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| yeah gangsta (verse 1) Tell me all my children fore i come throught is the hood in the buildin'(yes) You wont belive what im dealing this west coas shit, oh what a feelin (ahhhh) Niggaz think im drug dealin cus i roled out with no muthaf**kin' sealing (none) Is he worth a hundren million no need to ask Ice Cube how im livin (im living loc) I still got the recipe, South Central LA is the pedigree Dont try to tell me wuh it better be, i have your ass up in physical therapy I outlaw like a Cherokee, the rap industry tried to bury me But if i die on a mike of a leraby im so heavy u bitches couldnt carry me (Chorus) Get money spend money no money, lookin' like a dummy (i really dont give a f**k) Your money aint my f**king money got a pocket full of money (c'mon homie throw it up) Get money spend money no money, lookin' like a dummy (i really dont give a f**k) Your money aint my f**king money got a pocket full of money (c'mon homie throw it up) (Verse 2) I dont accept no disrespect only thing i expect is self check Just grin and bare it, got an ass whooping that your ass dont wanna inherit Most rappers are parrots, they say what they told to say to get a neck fool of carrots Got your momma embarrassed, how long before they callin' us terrorists nigga-im serious (I) Keep it gangsta but i keeps a job cus its, hard to sleep when u steal and rob (and ya) Got to run cus here comes the blob cus, Uncle Sam is like part of the Mobb Break your self he'll take your wealth dont get it twisted u a muthaf**kin' elf And SantaClause will go for self all u got is your balls and your health (Corus) (verse 3) Niggaz brag about what they got, but we dont own a skyscraper, now thats paypa One generation from slums, happy for these little crumb...you little bums We saw u pull up but nigga shut up (Shut up), you always talk about a f**kin' car or truck You always talkin' bout some f**kin' rims on terrior, that kinda shit will keep an ass inferior Im tryina eat tomorro, not tryina hear bout the little bitty shit u ball Saw your little bitty house on cribs, where u f**k your wife and feed your kids (uhuhh) Nigga be quiet aint shit private, everything for sail u can buy it All this self snitchin', all this self tellin' muthaf**kas going back to the watermelon (chorus)x3 |
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