Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Tell The Feds, artist - Too $hort Presents Lil Jon, The Eastside Boyz & Many MoreDate of issue: 23.08.1999
Song language: English
Tell The Feds |
| And it don’t stop to the beat, baby |
| Funky Fresh on the microphone |
| One time for your mind, beeyatch (Beeyatch) |
| Short Dogg’s in the motherfuckin house |
| Doin what we always do, a stack |
| (Gettin money) Gettin money (Gettin money) |
| Chorus: Too $hort, (Slink Capone) |
| Tell the Feds we ain’t runnin no coke factory |
| (Fuck a secret indictment, all I do is write shit) |
| Tell the Feds we ain’t runnin no coke factory |
| (You got the wrong rappers, nigga you better tell em!!) |
| Tell the Feds we ain’t runnin no coke factory |
| (Tell em Short, tell em!!!) |
| Tell the Feds we ain’t runnin no coke factory |
| (OOOOOHHHHH!!!) |
| Verse One: |
| You broke the law, and you got caught |
| Got a good lawyer, case is bein fought |
| Life is full of choices, make em at the crossroads |
| If you had five, you already lost four |
| Straight apprehended, handcuffed and can’t stand it |
| Don’t wanna go to jail but you was caught redhanded |
| A felony, strike number two |
| Federal Agents like, «What you wanna do?» |
| Make a choice, so you start to think back |
| Short Dogg was a nigga that always rapped |
| Half my life ago, didn’t sell no dope |
| I sold dope fiend music for your stereo |
| Sittin at the crossroads in '84 |
| I knew hella motherfuckers that was slangin coke |
| Use to tell my homeboys, front me a sack |
| Postin me at the dopehouse dumpin the crack |
| My niggas wouldn’t do it, I love em for that |
| Cos now I still rap and get paid to gat |
| Since '87, that’s how the shit comes |
| We made two hundred thousand in six months |
| Sellin tapes not cakes, cheques kept comin |
| Fuck buyin *?boats?*, niggas makin hundreds |
| Legit, you think I’m stupid, bitch |
| I bought a studio so I can do this shit |
| Chorus: Too $hort, (Slink Capone) |
| Tell the Feds we ain’t runnin no coke factory |
| (You got it twisted, Bridget |
| Why pressin charges when I’m depressin hard and shit) |
| Tell the Feds we ain’t runnin no coke factory |
| (Run tell em, tell em Short, tell em) |
| Verse Two: |
| I used to sell weed in high school, smoked the profit |
| I never sold *?company due?*, I can’t knock it |
| Cos the inner city public school system is fucked |
| Go to class all day, you ain’t gettin enough |
| So at 3:15 it’s time to put in work |
| Buy you some dope and go hit the turf |
| Ain’t no scholarship, no rap contract |
| But a nigga get paid sellin hop and crack |
| I got lucky, it’s not a get-rich scheme |
| I’ve been sellin rap tapes since I was 15 |
| I told the Oakland police, too many times |
| I make a lot of money doin pimp rhymes |
| I never sell drugs to jeopardise my freedom |
| You never could make me realise I need em |
| I went from hundreds, to hundreds to thousands, to millions |
| I know what police want, I feel em |
| I’m always ballin right there in the hype |
| Instantly, dope dealer stereotype |
| But shit is serious, I know I never sold drugs |
| So why these motherfuckers tryin ta roll me up? |
| And smoke me, why? |
| No one knows |
| The only thing I did wrong was fuck all ya hoes |
| I don’t smoke coke blunts and sho' don’t sell em |
| Call the FBI, somebody please tell em |
| Chorus: Too $hort, (Slink Capone) |
| Tell the Feds we ain’t runnin no coke factory |
| (All you motherfuckers is lookin at us rock jewelery and shit |
| That’s all you are) |
| Tell the Feds we ain’t runnin no coke factory |
| (Somebody better tell em we got receipts) |
| Verse Three: |
| Rap is brand new, not long ago |
| Made a billion dollars last year round the globe |
| Now all the little kids can’t let it go |
| To the new millenium with a brand new flow |
| Too $hort baby straight from the O |
| If you’re like me, you’re tryin ta make some doe |
| Roll to the spot and try ta break a ho |
| Pimp her real hard and then take it slow |
| When I rap to a bitch, I’m a pro |
| I spit this game like never befo' |
| Grab the microphone and always rock the show |
| Then I grab me a freak, tell her «Keep it on the low» |
| If I take her to my house she won’t say no |
| I burn rubber with the bitch in my fo'-fifty-fo' |
| California niggas drop the top and roll |
| Stare up at the mountains, won’t see no snow |
| I go coast to coast smokin indo |
| If my bitch actin up, I fuck her friend so |
| Don’t investigate me for sellin dope |
| If you see me rollin clean thru the ghetto |
| I’m probably on my way to the studio |
| Probably playin somethin loud on the stereo |
| Short Dogg, don’t forget the funk motto: |
| 'Free your mind and your ass will follow' |
| Chorus: Too $hort, (Slink Capone) |
| Tell the Feds we ain’t runnin no coke factory |
| (We're up y’all in this motherfuckin holdin tank for hidin snitch ass |
| Niggas) |
| Tell the Feds we ain’t runnin no coke factory |
| (Nigga, I was promoted a tour of Kentucky nigga, and D.C.) |
| Outro: Slink Capone |
| Pop this shit, be outta state, niggas is hella fake |
| Moms ain’t mess with the motherfuckin phone |
| My girl, she’s fuckin up, god damn! |
| Nigga you better stop all that motherfuckin snitchin |
| Tell them motherfuckers we ain’t runnin no motherfuckin coke factory |
| Tell em, tell em! |
| TELL EM!!! |
| YOU BETTER TELL EM!!! |
| Let em know, TELL EM!!! |