Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song This Gangsta Shit Is Too Much, artist - Warren G. Date of issue: 31.12.2000
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Universal Music
Song language: English
This Gangsta Shit Is Too Much |
| 1, 2, 1, 2, yeah |
| All yeah, we doing it like that |
| We flip that, uh |
| More in the crib |
| Dru, yeah, D-Funk allstars |
| Thats how we do it, G-Funk, yeah |
| What’s y’all thought, I wasn’t gonna return with a hit |
| Too much smokin' that Sherman shit |
| I learned this from the best, and got y’all sprung |
| The, the doctor, Andre Young |
| Compton, LB, ain’t nothing y’all can tell me |
| Going hard on the yard, 'till me dogs bailed me |
| They tells me, I can’t precede with it |
| I came back and got ole G’d with it |
| We get crunk, spit it when we drunk |
| Commited to that shit, that makes the gangstas stump |
| Chumps can try, if they choose to to |
| With these locs love my dogs like the Blues Clues |
| So excuse you, I’m the reason for the fame |
| And all of a sudden, you ain’t believing in the name |
| What? |
| Butch Cassidy, show 'em what we working with |
| This gangsta shit is too much |
| Don’t be suckas, can’t touch |
| It’s working in the LBC, nonstop to the NYC |
| Warren G, with the gangsta three’s, oooh wee! |
| And the win, on the 7−10 southbound |
| Duece and gin, getting guzzled down by the mouth now |
| Smashing a hundred in the car pool |
| Thats the type of thing that hogs do |
| My concern ain’t the fame, I hope you know that |
| Status: millionaire, still don’t show that |
| Go back to where I was raised |
| On the porch is where they got braids, never not afraid |
| To test my shot, drop a hundred dollar fade |
| Holla, don’t be a major see me in the hood |
| Off TV, totally un-Hollywood |
| Still to the good and you know that |
| Still with me, still when you show that |
| And Big Snoop Dogg we gonna blow that |
| Still with it, we all say that we real with it |
| Until bustas reveal, how we really did it |
| So what’s crackin' now |
| Got these haters actin' now |
| Backin' down to this gangsta sound |
| Westcoast circus clowns |
| It’s on purpose how I spit rounds |
| You trying to get down |
| Abnorm with the form, swarming heated |
| Hitting fools Glocks like we got cheated |
| Repeated simotaneously |
| I’m bringing bangers with me |
| So hopefully, moves can be made |
| We can all get paid, relax in the shade |
| Sun, snow, it really don’t matter |
| We can all make dough |
| Eastcoast, westcoast, midwest, dirty south |
| And big heads, is what I’m all about |
| And big heads, is what I’m all about |
| And big heads, is what I’m all about, fool |