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I'm a hutch-peeler with much scrilla and |
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I love to get high, homie |
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Shady character like |
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Don King, so you better keep your eye on me |
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I done bust niggaz in the grill and had 'em wearin partials |
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Jacked high rollers and ran from the |
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US marshalls |
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It's called survival and only the strong can survive |
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And went the distance with the feds while some of my partners took a dive |
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Strive to stay alive, can't let no nigga smudder me |
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Got to stay f-r-double e and keep these bitches lovin me |
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Sippin bubbly, breakin down buds from a fat sack |
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Reservations at [? ] arts craft shack |
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I stacks fat cause a mackaroni gots to have cheese [? ] pillows and cigarillos and backwood leaves |
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And I drinks |
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Hen by the gallon, so sometimes |
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I might trip |
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Infrared beam with black talons and that extended clip |
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Quick to do some sprayin, so nigga, watch what you sayin |
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You'll get your show cancelled like |
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Keenan and |
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Ivory Wayans [Chorus] |
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I'm just a pimp, mane, tryin to stack some |
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Francs So |
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I can have |
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French maids pedicure my bunions |
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Oh, you ain't knowin, what is you, new? |
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Yo hutch must be feedin you fish head stew [Verse 2: Mac Dre] |
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Mac Dre shake broke hoes with bolos and kids |
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Tell a bitch she can take a long walk off a short bridge |
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And hope she land in shark-infested waters |
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Heartless, takin over turfs like |
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Nino did to |
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Corace Kidnapped by the feds and treated like a sucker |
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But now I'm free they see payback's a motherfucker |
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I'm sickenin, like dickin all they daughters and nieces |
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Now CO's and |
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PO's want me restin in pieces |
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Gettin peace is so hard that it'll make your nose bleed |
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And I been smokin since niggaz was on gold weed |
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Born to be a player, rhyme sayer and clock grits |
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Strapped with two 23 speedin chop sticks |
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Quick to kick a bitch to the curb |
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And get back with her on a 33rd |
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I never worry, never worry, it's all copastetic |
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Got mo' game than needed insulin in a diabetic [Chorus] [Verse 3: Mac Dre] |
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I be fitted, dipped in butter, hair cut like |
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Kobe Blindin 'em with science like |
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Thomas Dolby |
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Pullin on black |
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MI, sippin top-shelf |
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Cuevo Playin with my hutch hair while she lickin on my navel |
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Stable full of money-makin stallions |
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Been in the feds with dreads from |
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Jamaica and |
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Italians Shrimp scampi eater |
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Peter Long [] |
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Puffin purple cush at the building with my cousons |
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Strapped, armed, ready, ain't nobody goosin me |
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Got [? ] where the airbags used to be |
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Boy, you should see how |
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I act off the privilege |
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Hennessy is like |
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Popeye's spinach |
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I'm ready to take heads off, gunplay or fight |
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I dot eyes and have 'em wearin they sunglasses at night |
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Fool, that's real, that ain't no frontin |
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Them punk-ass niggaz don't wanna see |
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Dre about nothin |
