Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Can't U Tell, artist - Dj Noodles
Date of issue: 26.05.2008
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Can't U Tell |
My father was heavy in the dope game |
I’m talking early 80s |
You know them coke days |
At a tender age I was breastfed cocaine |
That was my first intro to the dope game |
Grew up watching Tony Montanas in real life |
It’s only right I wanted to be Tony in real life |
At 14 I started selling weed, moved on to acid, LSD |
My mom found a stash and flushed, the whole thing |
Oh Shit, now its time for a plan B |
Caught my first 8-Ball at 120 |
Broke it drown and flipped it for 3 |
Did it a couple times, flipped O-Z's |
From there, I was on my way keys |
Got saved by the rap game, and that was it for me |
Damn I came from the dope game |
Dope game raised me |
I’ve been getting money since the 80s |
While my hoes tryna tame me |
I was making sure some fool paid me |
While rap guys tell fiction |
I’m in the courtroom beating the conviction' |
I play hard in Detroit like a piston (what else?) |
My weed bags be chunky, call it Lipton |
Lipton, homie what it be like |
Sit the pot in the ice so it freeze right |
Take the cookie out, put it on the bounty |
I’m from the go-game, homie kings county (what else?) |
Master criminal activity |
Flatness squeeze, clack, clack willingly |
Credit card scams, i bust checks on 'em |
Anything to get green like the jets on 'em |
I swing bars like dope, blow |
My 16's be the o’s, my flow be the coke |
Money ain’t green even though i got soap |
The trap house looking like a ski slope |
Money, that is my wife |
Put a ring on my wallet and guard it with my life |
You see the coup, the products in the muffler |
Call me Larry Flynt, jack I’m a hustler |
When it comes to this shit I’m a monster |
And when it comes to this shit you win an Oscar |
Welch ass nigga you’s a Simp |
Me, I’m a pimp, leg’s fine but I limp |
Got cane, candy red rain |
Jay got Beyonce, I settle for Celine |
Cash heavy gotta move it with a crane |
My bread crazy, bank account insane |
When Trazz on the track it’s certified crack |
Baggie hit the streets you can watch your money stack |
Rap’s like the crack game, now I’m in a trap |
Pay me 30 stacks, see your money double back, uh) |
My 16's come out doper than codeine (what?) |
One verse from Trazz, get you bigger than protein (yeah) |
Music b-boy, beats i destroy |
Flick my style and watch the pockets key lord |
Whether rap or crack all the same (same) |
Heroin flow, got it running through my veins |
Stay in my post while they fiend for a dose |
And see my product travel all the way down the coast |
Oooh, It’s like a virus, they got to try this |
I love the green you’d swear I was Irish |
I write my bars and sell them by the jars (jars) |
The fiends here can’t get enough, like el da barge, know why? |
Now you can A-town stomp or you can rock away |
But when I was hustling I never gave a rock away |
They say St. Louis raised me, certified 80s baby |
Been through a lot of shit for months, like a pregnant lady |
All I remember is crip and blood differences |
Some niggas made it out but others we remember them |
But on the better note know we all getting money now |
My past was no joke but everything funny now |
I’m talking stress-free Bentley is nestle |
Mr. What-the-hook-gone-be (Murphy lee!) that’s me |
Spending all money, sometimes on your honey |
Taking turns for me, she making that to-go money |
I’m glad I’m smart enough not to do a lot of stuff |
Never had to prove that the young dude was hard enough |
Even though I came from the city where I came from |
Moves made all around me but I ain’t saying nothing |
Can’t you tell that I came from the dope game |
150 grams of soda mixed with cocaine |
The iron chef, I whip it up in hell’s kitchen (tell 'em) |
Shit it’s all in the wrist, boy I’m nice with it |
Get a coffee pot hot, drop some ice in it |
Take it out, chop it down, put a price with it |
Frank Lucas had the blue magic |
I’m like Freeway Rick, I move traffic |
I’m a hustler baby, things tryin' talk me down |
I’m like fuck you, pay me |
Funds got bigger, guns got bigger |
The block got dry then we robbing them dealers |
When they come through, then we at it again |
Cooking pies, do or die, but we at it to win |
Got goons that’ll bust, tell 'em where and when |
Wide city dope boy, I got money to spend |
Motherfucker! |