Dj Quik

Dollaz + Sense

  hip-hop  g-funk  rap  west coast  west coast rap
850 3 часа назад

Текст песни Dj Quik - Dollaz + Sense

Dj Quik - Dollaz + Sense слова песни

MmmNow let`s get down to business, bitchesCause it seems like y`all just keep on tryin to diss thisNigga that you know that`s been down for yearsI`ve clowned for years, and y`all could never fade my peersOne two three four five six sevenNine, ten, Eiht you can`t winCause all the way around nigga I gets respectand youse a nigga that can`t even get no props in your setTragniew Park you say huhWanna be rippin, but now it`s time to do some set trippinSo listen close, cause I don`t want y`all to missThat I`m bout to break it down for this bitch, check itAcacia, Poplar Maple Spruce Cedar ElmWestside trees sprayin all the fleasthat`s from the three and four hundred block P-Funk riders(So niggaz watch yo` ass at that center divider *gun blast*)Now Aaron Tyler, tell my why you seem so tameWhen I caught you at the airport, shakin like a crap gameYou looked up and you seen my niggaz cominAnd you looked like your bitch ass was bout to start runninBut all I wanted to do was kick a little coversation (yo whatup)And see if we can fix this little situationBut would I fuck you up was what you wonderedYeah, that`s probably why you changed your little pager number (punk ass)But bitches like you don`t growYou can`t even look me in my eye, let alone go toe to toeAnd callin me skinny, youse a clownI`ma call you Theo, cause you weigh ninety-two point three poundsWack ass actor, movie script killerFool don`t you know, Quik is still the niggaCompton psycho, boy you oughta quitYour records don`t hit, and bitches don`t jock your shitYou need to stay down you Compton clownand get off of the nuts of the niggaz with gutsBecause I`m down with the Trees, I`m down with Death RowI`m down with Black Tone, and I`m down with the fo`So when we cross paths and I hope that`s soonI`ma boot your motherfuckin ass to the moonYou need to quit bangin under false pretenseCause if don`t make dollars, it don`t make sense*chorus* If it don`t make dollars, it don`t make senseSo don`t kill game, let the pimpin commence If it don`t make dollars, it don`t make senseSo don`t kill game, let the people, commence If it don`t make dollars, it don`t make senseSo don`t kill game, let the pimpin commence If it don`t make dollars, it don`t make senseBecause you gotta give it up to the crown princeNow I`ma swing it to the right and, right into the left handTake a deep breath and, cook it like a chef andthis is dedicated to the C-P-TNo better yet T-T-P, or the niggaz that look up to meI make it my business, to be that true foreverand whenever I can come clever well that`s my endeavorso whether or not you understand, that there`s only one DJ Q-U-I-Kwith no C still you can`t be meBecause I`m floatin in my Lex and, depositin fat checks andgettin mad sex while I floss the NSX anddoin what I wanna, and youse a goner niggafor thinkin that you can catch me slippin on a street cornerRemember Compton`s in the house, and Quik is in the hoodSippin yak with all my niggaz cause it`s tooted goodSo don`t knock it til you try it, cause Eiht he tried to knock itBut he`s still walkin round with my nuts in his pocket (beyotch)So put tha P in it represent and sip that MillerAnd for those of y`all concerned, this is still Eiht Killa *gun blast*Let me take a load off my scrotum little pestIf it don`t make dollers nigga, you know the rest *chorus*Now I done sold my fuckin soul to the shit that I kickWhile you groupie ass niggaz keep on ridin the dickYou oughta know that DJ Quik ain`t your average everyday motherfucker(hah) Slick like a snake cause I stuck yaNow, I never had my dick sucked by a man befo`But you gon be the first you little trick ass hoeThen you can tell me just how it tasteBut before I nut I shoot some piss in your faceyou fuckin coward, tremblin like a nervous wreckCause when I caught your ass, you put yourself in checkAnd when you left my presence, you left expedientYou ain`t no fuckin killer, youse a comedian, beyotchTell me why you act so scaryGivin your set a bad name wit your misspelled nameE-I-H-T, now should I continueYeah you left out the G cause the G ain`t in youRemember that time you was rollin on the WestsideAnd a little brown bucket pulled up on your sideCaught at that light in your Camry in the midst of aREAL killer, tell me did you feel a little nervous (hell yeah)You was in the shadow of deathWith two trey-five-sevens pointed at your chest, hmmWhatchu gon do, where was your niggaz that kill atYou ain`t got no killers so kill datHoldin up your hands and beggin for a passYou lucky they didn`t just to get to dumpin on yo` assCause this game you think is funny is some real shitSo you need to be more careful who you fuckin wit, beyotch! *chorus*(line 4) I`m through playin with your punk assShouts goes out, to my well known road dogWhat`s up Dozun Tru, they don`t understand it babythey can`t fade us out here on these Compton streets (beyotch)It`s bigger than they can imagineTo the whole entire Death Row familyBoth sides, whassup niggazAnd my nigga big Suge, known for keepin shit poppinTo my nigga Big J, my little nigga Hi-C, little straight GAnd that little singin ass nigga Danny BoyY`all don`t understand, y`all can`t fade thisI`M the first nigga that was "Bangin on Wax"Yeah if you remember, nineteen eighty-seven underground tapesAnd it don`t stop, and it won`t stop

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