| Uhh. |
| UHH
|
| Yeah.
|
| Uhh. |
| uhh.
|
| Uh! |
| Yeah. |
| yeah.
|
| Uhh.
|
| I’m on.
|
| Fuck em. |
| yeah, uhh.
|
| With my hands gripped. |
| praise the Lord shit
|
| Fuck her, never knew her
|
| Screw her. |
| (dump her body, dump her body) sewer
|
| Our father. |
| uh-huh.
|
| What you expected from his next of kin
|
| I’m loco bro, but ain’t no Mexican
|
| I got nines in the bedroom, glocks in the kitchen
|
| A shotty by the shower if you wanna shoot me while I’m shittin
|
| Uhh, the lesson from the Smith and Wessun is depressin
|
| Niggaz keep stressin, the same motherfuckin question
|
| How many shots does it take, to make my heart stop
|
| and my body start to shake, if I should die before I wake
|
| With my hands gripped. |
| praise the Lord shit
|
| Our father. |
| if I should die before I wake
|
| Fluck that
|
| Snap a nigga shit, smash him with the fifth, watch his body lift
|
| Shut his hottie’s lips, bitch screamin, hit her body quick
|
| Got me like the trifest not knowin how my life is
|
| My life is, rap sheet long as the Turnpike
|
| The sheistest, hey fella, who bidded with the lifers
|
| Did it with the glocks, spit it witcha pops, you was in diapers
|
| Loved me when you came to Rikers
|
| Hated me all in the free cypher; |
| mad you can’t be like us
|
| Some murderers who turn bikers -- see Biggie Smalls
|
| recruited these snipers -- alumni do it just like us
|
| Some pied pipers, squeezin life out y’all
|
| It’s all out war, be all wild as all outdoor
|
| If a coward got beef, y’all be checkin his palm
|
| Paralyzin my niggaz thorough kid, how bout yours?
|
| Real quick to screw a nigga then, hop out four
|
| Clean the wipers, hit the party up and, hop out yours
|
| Bitch nigga. |
| whoah.
|
| Yo when you fuckin wit Mac, you fuckin wit the best
|
| Still wall to wall with them dusty Tecs
|
| Man you know how I handle my shit, S.K. |
| can on my shit
|
| Jump out of vans like Hannibal Smith
|
| Man I spit a thousand rounds, your squad don’t need it
|
| Shredders in a riot pump leave you quadriplegic
|
| When I squeeze don’t breathe keep it lined and even
|
| So when niggaz get hit, they be cryin screamin
|
| Lyin bleedin -- from that iron steamin
|
| And I ain’t tryin to hear that bullshit, I ain’t mean it
|
| Niggaz start bitchin, when that pistol in they face
|
| or I sick two puts to come and get you in your place
|
| If I catch you in my shit, I’m wakin my bitch
|
| Hear take this shit, crackin the brick, facin that shit
|
| Takin two sniffs, grabbin my shit
|
| Best believe if I get hit, y’all niggaz takin some shit
|
| Picture niggaz takin my shit
|
| Niggaz never thought they’d see Cube and Biggie
|
| in the year 2000, all drunk and pissy
|
| off whiskey, you can miss me, actin gay
|
| He’s the King of New York, I’m the King of L.A.
|
| Doin it the O.G. |
| way; |
| it’s sorta like
|
| the Brooklyn Way, it’s just the crook in me
|
| So this is dedicated to the memory of
|
| the Notorious One, the glorious one
|
| And if you go for your gun, I got to go for mine
|
| Cock my nine, and seperate yo' head from yo' spine
|
| So, «Grab yo' dicks if you love hip-hop"and
|
| fuck you niggaz that shot Big Pop'
|
| The conspiracy, of this nation, for assassination
|
| of the young black male in this black hell
|
| And I can tell, no matter the weather
|
| that you and Tupac got yo' shit together
|
| California Love |