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