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Dollaz + Sense

Artist:DJ Quik  Album:Murder Was The Case 

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Now let's get down to business, bitches 'Cause it seems like y'all just keep on tryin' to diss this Nigga that you know that's been down for years I've clowned for years, and y'all could never fade my peers One two three four five six seven nine, ten, Eiht you can't win 'Cause all the way around nigga I gets respect And youse a nigga that can't even get no props in your set Tragniew Park you say huh Wanna be rippin', but now it's time to do some set trippin' So listen close, 'cause I don't want y'all to miss That I'm bout to break it down for this bitch, check it Acacia, Poplar Maple Spruce Cedar Elm West side trees sprayin' all the fleas that's from the three and four hundred block P-Funk riders So niggaz watch yo' ass at that center divider Now Aaron Tyler, 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 conversation And see if we can fix this little situation But would I fuck you up was what you wondered Yeah, that's probably why you changed your little pager number But bitches like you don't grow You can't even look me in my eye, let alone go toe to toe And callin' me skinny, youse a clown I'ma call you Theo, 'cause you weigh ninety-two point three pounds Wack ass actor, movie script killer Fool don't you know, Quik is still the nigga Compton psycho, boy you oughta quit Your records don't hit, and bitches don't jock your shit You need to stay down you Compton clown And get off of the nuts of the niggaz with guts Because I'm down with the Trees, I'm down with Death Row I'm down with Black Tone, and I'm down with the fo' So when we cross paths and I hope that's soon I'ma boot your motherfuckin' ass to the moon You need to quit bangin' under false pretense 'Cause if don't make dollars, it don't make sense 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 So don't kill game, let the people, commence 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 Now I'ma 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 that's my endeavor So whether or not you understand, that there's only one DJ Q-U-I-K With no C still you can't be me Because I'm 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 Compton's in the house, and Quik is in the hood Sippin' yak with all my niggaz 'cause it's tooted good So don't knock it till you try it, 'cause Eiht he tried to knock it


Posted By: PetitLyrics
Number of PetitLyrics Plays:9





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