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Aww hell nah nigga |
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We ain't doin no freestyles |
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Don't even know how to do that shit |
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*chuckling* |
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Yeah whatevah |
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Check it out man, check this one out |
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I been rappin for half my life |
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I'm twenty-eight now sayin pass the mic |
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If you eighteen or nineteen speak up fool |
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I was born on the mic before you went to school |
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Talkin bout pimp shit, you know whassup |
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I wonder if you mom'll let you play that stuff |
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Now you're flowin like your name is water |
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But I'm ten years older and my game is harder |
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I'm not tryin to say you're out there dissin |
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I'm just tryin to say lil nigga listen |
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Before you grab the mic and act wild |
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Bitin on the next nigga's mackin style |
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And it's all from head, passin round the mic |
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Never even care who you sounded like |
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Sound like Snoop Dogg, then you switched to Treach |
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Bit the Pharcyde then A Tribe Called Quest |
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And you gots no respect for me, is that right? |
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Well jump your ass on the train witcha backpack tight |
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and keep rappin, I'm floatin past all the stops |
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In a clean ass Benz I have all the props |
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F**k credit from a rapper can you match my Visa |
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I heard your girlfriend was a real dick pleaser |
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And a Too $hort fan, faithfully |
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When I came to your town she couldn't wait to see me |
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To the beat y'all, and it don't stop |
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It goes on cause I don't stop rappin |
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To the beat y'all, and it don't stop |
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It goes on cause I don't stop rappin |
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Let me tell you somethin bout a nigga named Short |
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Rappers always talk about the way I can't flow |
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But let me hit the mall with the same MC's |
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I be signin autographs, spend a gang of G's |
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While you walkin round broke, nobody knows ya |
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Lookin like you smoked a whole sack of doja |
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Outside in the parking lot in front of the cars |
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Standin in a circle with some wannabe stars |
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Freestylin, but you ain't original |
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You just shootin everything and you pimpin hoes |
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And to think you could hang with me |
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I never would spit this game for free |
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I'm the T-double-O, S-H, O-R-T |
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I rock all stages and any parties |
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Any my style is gettin bank |
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Gettin head, gettin hella dank |
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I drop my top when it's hot and sunny |
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So how you talk shit when you ain't havin no money |
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I set trends in the rap game bitch |
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And gives a f**k when other rappers talk shit |
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I know you motherf**kers, heard me rap |
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So hard, I put your momma in my dirty rap |
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No shit, the old bitch sucked a damn good dick |
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Put them legs up high she couldn't handle it |
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I'm not a no good punk, I coulda macked your mother |
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But Life is Too $hort, so I kept it undercover |
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Now you're all grown up, with your partners rappin |
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But old Short Dawg'll your ass what happened |
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To a fake MC, who tried to get with me |
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I ended his career, instantly |
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And it don't stop, to the beat y'all |
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It goes on cause I don't stop rappin |
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And it don't stop, to the beat y'all |
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It goes on cause I don't stop rappin |
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Now let's compare the lifestyles, of me and you |
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You're phony and I'm all about bein true |
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You drive a bucket, that you bought for a G |
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I ride around snuffin them fo'-eighteens |
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In the back of a motherf**kin big ass truck |
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Jump two rows back and get my dick sucked |
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Benzos, Lexus, Rolex and Caddy |
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Fine lil bitches havin sex with Daddy |
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I ain't givin no bitch, no kind of slack |
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You got one girl then treat the hoe like a mack |
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What's yours is hers, she don't trip |
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Sucker ass nigga need to check that bitch |
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But you're so weak, and it shows in your rap |
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I'm out here, gettin hoes livin fat |
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While you at home, gettin sweated by your mamma |
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I bought my mother a house in Atlanta |
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And you can't stand it, so whaddayou say |
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Too $hort can't rap, no f**kin way |
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But here I am, workin in the studio |
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And your album ain't out because you're movin slow |
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By the time you make one I'll be on ten |
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Hit the studio nigga, and do it again |
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To the beat y'all, and it don't stop |
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It goes on cause I don't stop rappin |
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To the beat y'all, and it don't stop |
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It goes on cause I don't stop rappin |
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Now ask New York, can Too $hort flow |
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Ask Detroit, they'll let them niggaz know |
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Then ask Philly, can I rap |
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South side of Chicago, who's the mack? |
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I never ever tripped on the shit that you spit about me |
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Everytime I perform, I make a lot of G's |
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Cause I'm paid for this motherf**kin rap shit |
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Eatin good like a motherf**kin fat bitch |
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Every single day at the house what's wrong wichu |
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Eatin fast food if you only knew |
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I understand though, cause I been there befo' |
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Eat any damn thing and got nowhere to go |
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Daydreams, about bein great |
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It all started back when I was sellin tapes |
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in eighty-two eighty-three eighty-fo' on up |
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Waitin still waitin just to blow on up |
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And when it happened, I still had to wait |
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I didn't get paid til eighty-eight |
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I made nine albums in nine years |
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I'm a true blue West coast pioneer |
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Dr. Dre, Ice-T, and all the rest |
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All that money we makin don't fault the West |
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Cause we ain't the ones who created rap |
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But when we made the shit, we made it fat |
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And it don't stop, to the beat y'all |
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It goes on cause I don't stop rappin |
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And it don't stop, to the beat y'all |
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It goes on cause I don't stop rappin |
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BEYOTCH! |
