| Man Quik, what they talkin' 'bout?
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| Man they talkin' 'bout R&B music and Gangsta Rap is dead
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| What?! |
| Damn
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| Aye, we need to go bury both of them muthafuckaz in the pet semetary
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| Take them to Compton and Watts then
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| I hit the liquor depot, on Crenshaw
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| Where all the working class G’s go
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| Around the corner from Greg house
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| On the next block
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| Knocking something down
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| Cause South Central got the best cock
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| And the flyest bitches live in ran down spots
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| That’s why them niggas be Piruin' and Crippin'
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| Tryin' to protect that ghetto pussy they hittin'
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| And you know what you goin' get when you buy you a Quik beat
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| And you know what’s goin' happen your bitches and Quik meet
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| And I know that she goin' kiss and tell
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| She can’t keep it quiet, can’t help it when the dick is swell
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| Have to admit it
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| It’s just good
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| She’s gotta laugh
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| Like a parent, I put a whoopin' on her bottom half
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| I’m a player from the Himalayas
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| Niggas don’t agree, then them niggas' haters
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| I’m just tryin' to be the R&B savior with the instrumental
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| Or goin' down like JFK in a Continental
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| The most underrated, so mothafu*kin' hated
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| Anything I do for music is never celebrated
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| Ya’ll killin' the game like pesticides
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| But, DJ Quik is unpasteurized
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| My music is flawless, my lyrics is lawless
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| Your hood wouldn’t be eatin'
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| I’m the reason for all this
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| Ya’ll tryin' say I got my jaw broke in Compton
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| What kind of fake gangsta movies ya’ll be watchin'
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| That’s some cowboy sh*t, this some now boy sh*t
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| When them rounds hit your car, that’s as loud as it’s goin' get
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| Handle my lightweight, get him embalmed
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| So don’t fu*k with the great
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| You’re much safer on skates
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| On thin ice
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| With lead plates
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| I’m 'bout to reboot, go in and recoup, come through and shoot, make 'em scatter
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| like shoooop
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| So all that don’t like me, you can suck a dick or somethin'
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| Turn over on your stomach, take a dildo 'til you vomit
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| I know you niggas crampin', I know the real you
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| You keep fu*kin' with me, and I’m goin' kill you
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| Now what they want to go and cancel Arsenio Hall for
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| Now we got no place to kick it, That’s so uncalled for
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| I’m a bad motherfu*ker, cause my Glock says so
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| But my wallet says Gucci, I’m a fly killer yo
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| Jewels on your ass, pullin' tools on your ass
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| Recite a scripture before I put these on your ass
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| I’m a
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| Put that in perspective, it’s about a half oz of the OG
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| Gettin' low key
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| Rollin' more trees than a hatchback
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| Chillin' like it’s '79
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| My lyrics so wicked, nigga, go and rewind
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| So, one more time, I’m from the world’s most dangerous city
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| Back on the scene with no cracks on my screen
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| I’m like an addict gettin' back on that thing
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| If R&B is dead, nigga, Rest In Peace
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| But I’m still goin' write the stuff that make the stress release, Preach |