Lyrics You Betta Ask Somebody - Esham

You Betta Ask Somebody

Detroit City!
This is for all them big money makin niggaz in detroit.
I know ya’ridin high boy, i know ya’ridin high.
I might skate through my city 500 dry, just gotta fresh fade from the barber
shop.
Gonna pick up my nigga we gonna hit the strip, got the 3−5-7 just incase we trip.
Might get a lil’drunk might smoke some weed, and fuck with some hoes thats all
we need.
I’ma’real ass nigga that neva’fake, if you feel like me nigga pump yo’break.
See i made this shit fo’them niggaz who roll, like Tony Montana out control.
From the D-E-R-T-R-O-I-T can’t no nigga out there fuck wit’me.
I’m gettin (mailed?) fuck a jail cell, post bail, Esham gettin paid who you
gonna tell.
Wit’cho’punk ass!
I blast!
Any muthafucka runnin’up in the ski mask.
Never out done only out doin', titty bar bitches is the hoes i’m screwin'.
Why?
cause all my niggaz did they addicted ta’sellin Yayo and yellin’hey hoe.
If you don’t know i think you better go axe somebody bout’a real nigga hoe YO!
Chours:
Bitch!
you betta axe somebody!
(bitch you betta’axe somebody)
Cause i don’t just talk!
(i don’t just talk baby, thats right)
I don’t just talk when it comes to makin’my (snouts?)
Cause i wuz slangin’rocks way before all them rappers.
On The coner sellin dimes, FUCK the ryhmes young nigga came up through them
hard times.
I’ma’seven mile ride, beers glidin big bluntin’ain’t no picture in if ya’frame.
The fall of the best friends Robbey and I, now niggaz in my city like do or die.
All i do is smoke weed and fuck these hoes, have em’waitin by the phone hopin
they get chose.
All you punk ass niggas be player hatin'.
Cause i’m makin this money strait regulatin'.
And you be ill legit all counterfeit.
Ain’t about no buisnes you all about bullshit.
Get yo’shit together, stop ridin’on the next niggaz dick and lovin these tricks.
It all started as a toddler, .45 bullet swallower to the foot step follower.
Slang’an oz.
niggaz wanna’know me bitches wanna know my bidness cause ya’nosey.
I’m thinkin how can i come up on the 8 feet, i never let the money get chance
to get away from me.
Street polaticin', hood rat dick stickin, Call me Cernal Sanders cause i got
the fried chicken.
Ill life wicked ways make me real trife, i bring the thought up it’s all about «Reel Life»
Chours
Bitch!
you betta axe somebody!
(bitch you betta’axe somebody)
Cause i don’t just talk!
(i don’t just talk baby, thats right)
Female Voice: You better ask somebody, if you talk.