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Mmm Now let's get down to business, ******* |
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Cause it seems like y'all just keep on tryin to diss this |
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******* that you know that's been down for years |
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I've clowned for years, and y'all could never fade my peers |
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One two three four five six seven |
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Nine, ten, |
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Eiht you can't win |
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Cause all the way around ******* |
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I gets respect and youse a ******* that can't even get no props in your set ? |
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Trag new park? you say huh |
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Wanna be rippin, but now it's time to do some set trippin |
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So listen close, cause |
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I don't want y'all to miss |
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That I'm bout to break it down for this ************, check it |
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Acacia, Poplar |
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Maple Spruce |
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Cedar Elm |
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Westside trees sprayin all the fleas that's from the three and four hundred block |
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P-Funk riders (So *******z watch yo' ass at that center divider *gun blast*) |
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Now Erik Titer, tell my why you seem so tame |
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When I caught you at the airport, shakin like a crap game |
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You looked up and you seen my *******z comin |
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And you looked like your ************ ass was bout to start runnin |
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But all I wanted to do was kick a little coversation (yo whatup) |
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And see if we can fix this little situation |
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But would |
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I ******* you up was what you wondered |
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Yeah, that's probably why you changed your little pager number (punk ass) |
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But ******* like you don't grow |
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You can't even look me in my eye, let alone go toe to toe |
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And callin me skinny, youse a clown |
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I'ma call you |
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Theo, cause you weigh ninety-two point three pounds |
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Wack ass actor, movie script killer |
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Fool don't you know, |
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Quik is still the ******* |
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Compton psycho, boy you oughta quit |
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Your records don't hit, and ******* don't jock your ************t |
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You need to stay down you |
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Compton clown and get off of the nuts of the *******z with guts |
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Because I'm down with the |
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Trees, I'm down with |
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Death Row |
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I'm down with |
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Black Tone, and |
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I'm down with the fo' |
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So when we cross paths and |
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I hope that's soon |
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I'ma boot your mother****** ass to the moon |
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You need to quit bangin under false pretense |
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Cause if don't make dollars, it don't make sense *chorus* |
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If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense |
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So don't kill game, let the pimpin commence |
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If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense |
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So don't kill game, let the people, commence |
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If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense |
|
So don't kill game, let the pimpin commence |
|
If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense |
|
Because you gotta give it up to the crown prince |
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Now I'ma swing it to the right and, right into the left hand |
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Take a deep breath and, cook it like a chef and this is dedicated to the |
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C-P-T No better yet |
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T-T-P, or the *******z that look up to me |
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I make it my business, to be that true forever and whenever |
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I can come clever well that's my endeavor so whether or not you understand, that there's only one |
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DJ Q-U-I-K with no |
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C still you can't be me |
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Because I'm floatin in my |
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Lex and, depositin fat checks and gettin mad sex while |
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I floss the |
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NSX and doin what |
|
I wanna, and youse a goner ******* for thinkin that you can catch me slippin on a street corner |
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Remember Compton's in the house, and |
|
Quik is in the hood |
|
Sippin yak with all my *******z cause it's tooted good |
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So don't knock it til you try it, cause |
|
Eiht he tried to knock it |
|
But he's still walkin round with my nuts in his pocket (beyotch) |
|
So put tha |
|
P in it represent and sip that |
|
Miller And for those of y'all concerned, this is still |
|
Eiht Killa *gun blast* |
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Let me take a load off my ******* little pest |
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If it don't make dollers *******, you know the rest *chorus* |
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Now I done sold my ****** soul to the ************t that |
|
I kick While you groupie ass *******z keep on ridin the ************ |
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You oughta know that |
|
DJ Quik ain't your average everyday mother******* (hah) |
|
Slick like a snake cause |
|
I stuck ya |
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Now, I never had my ************ sucked by a man befo' |
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But you gon be the first you little trick ass hoe |
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Then you can tell me just how it taste |
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But before |
|
I nut I shoot some piss in your face you ****** coward, tremblin like a nervous wreck |
|
Cause when |
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I caught your ass, you put yourself in check |
|
And when you left my presence, you left expedient |
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You ain't no ****** killer, youse a comedian, beyotch |
|
Tell me why you act so scary |
|
Givin your set a bad name wit your misspelled name |
|
E-I-H-T, now should |
|
I continue |
|
Yeah you left out the |
|
G cause the |
|
G ain't in you |
|
Remember that time you was rollin on the |
|
Westside And a little brown bucket pulled up on your side |
|
Caught at that light in your |
|
Camry in the midst of a |
|
REAL killer, tell me did you feel a little nervous (hell yeah) |
|
You was in the shadow of death |
|
With two trey-five-sevens pointed at your chest, hmm |
|
Whatchu gon do, where was your *******z that kill at |
|
You ain't got no killers so kill dat |
|
Holdin up your hands and beggin for a pass |
|
You lucky they didn't just to get to dumpin on yo' ass |
|
Cause this game you think is funny is some real ************t |
|
So you need to be more careful who you ****** wit, beyotch! *chorus* (line 4) |
|
I'm through playin with your punk ass |
|
Shouts goes out, to my well known road dog |
|
What's up |
|
Dozun Tru, they don't understand it baby they can't fade us out here on these |
|
Compton streets (beyotch) |
|
It's bigger than they can imagine |
|
To the whole entire |
|
Death Row family |
|
Both sides, whassup *******z |
|
And my ******* big |
|
Suge, known for keepin ************t poppin |
|
To my ******* |
|
Big J, my little ******* |
|
Hi-C, little straight |
|
G And that little singin ass ******* |
|
Danny Boy |
|
Y'all don't understand, y'all can't fade this |
|
I'M the first ******* that was "Bangin on Wax" |
|
Yeah if you remember, nineteen eighty-seven underground tapes |
|
And it don't stop, and it won't stop |
