Настроить

* also appears on the Murder Was the Case soundtrack as 'Dollars and Sense' 

Mmm 
Now let's get down to business  bitches 
Cause it seems like y'all just keep on tryin to diss this 
Nigga that you know that's been down for years 
I've clowned for years  and y'all could never fade my peers 
One two three four five six seven 
Nine  ten  Eiht you can't win 
Cause all the way around nigga I gets respect 
and youse a nigga that can't even get no props in your set 
?Trag new park? you say huh 
Wanna be rippin, but now it's time to do some set trippin 
So listen close, cause I don't want y'all to miss 
That I'm bout to break it down for this bitch, check it 
Acacia, Poplar Maple Spruce Cedar Elm 
Westside trees sprayin all the fleas 
that's from the three and four hundred block P-Funk riders 
(So niggaz watch yo' ass at that center divider *gun blast*) 
Now Erik Titer, tell my why you seem so tame 
When I caught you at the airport, shakin like a crap game 
You looked up and you seen my niggaz comin 
And you looked like your bitch ass was bout to start runnin 
But all I wanted to do was kick a little coversation (yo whatup) 
And see if we can fix this little situation 
But would I fuck you up was what you wondered 
Yeah, that's probably why you changed your little pager number (punk ass) 
But bitches like you don't grow 
You can't even look me in my eye, let alone go toe to toe 
And callin me skinny, youse a clown 
I'ma call you Theo, cause you weigh ninety-two point three pounds 
Wack ass actor, movie script killer 
Fool don't you know, Quik is still the nigga 
Compton psycho, boy you oughta quit 
Your records don't hit, and bitches don't jock your shit 
You need to stay down you Compton clown 
and get off of the nuts of the niggaz with guts 
Because I'm down with the Trees, I'm down with Death Row 
I'm down with Black Tone, and I'm down with the fo' 
So when we cross paths and I hope that's soon 
I'ma boot your motherfuckin ass to the moon 
You need to quit bangin under false pretense 
Cause if don't make dollars, it don't make sense 

*chorus* 

If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense 
So don't kill game, let the pimpin commence 
If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense 
So don't kill game, let the people, commence 
If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense 
So don't kill game, let the pimpin commence 
If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense 
Because you gotta give it up to the crown prince 

Now I'ma swing it to the right and, right into the left hand 
Take a deep breath and, cook it like a chef and 
this is dedicated to the C-P-T 
No better yet T-T-P, or the niggaz that look up to me 
I make it my business, to be that true forever 
and whenever I can come clever well that's my endeavor 
so whether or not you understand, that there's only one DJ Q-U-I-K 
with no C still you can't be me 
Because I'm floatin in my Lex and, depositin fat checks and 
gettin mad sex while I floss the NSX and 
doin what I wanna, and youse a goner nigga 
for thinkin that you can catch me slippin on a street corner 
Remember Compton's in the house, and Quik is in the hood 
Sippin yak with all my niggaz cause it's tooted good 
So don't knock it til you try it, cause Eiht he tried to knock it 
But he's still walkin round with my nuts in his pocket (beyotch) 
So put tha P in it represent and sip that Miller 
And for those of y'all concerned, this is still Eiht Killa *gun blast* 
Let me take a load off my scrotum little pest 
If it don't make dollers nigga, you know the rest 

*chorus* 

Now I done sold my fuckin soul to the shit that I kick 
While you groupie ass niggaz keep on ridin the dick 
You oughta know that DJ Quik ain't your average everyday motherfucker 
(hah) Slick like a snake cause I stuck ya 
Now, I never had my dick sucked by a man befo' 
But you gon be the first you little trick ass hoe 
Then you can tell me just how it taste 
But before I nut I shoot some piss in your face 
you fuckin coward, tremblin like a nervous wreck 
Cause when I caught your ass, you put yourself in check 
And when you left my presence, you left expedient 
You ain't no fuckin killer, youse a comedian, beyotch 
Tell me why you act so scary 
Givin your set a bad name wit your misspelled name 
E-I-H-T, now should I continue 
Yeah you left out the G cause the G ain't in you 
Remember that time you was rollin on the Westside 
And a little brown bucket pulled up on your side 
Caught at that light in your Camry in the midst of a 
REAL killer, tell me did you feel a little nervous (hell yeah) 
You was in the shadow of death 
With two trey-five-sevens pointed at your chest, hmm 
Whatchu gon do, where was your niggaz that kill at 
You ain't got no killers so kill dat 
Holdin up your hands and beggin for a pass 
You lucky they didn't just to get to dumpin on yo' ass 
Cause this game you think is funny is some real shit 
So you need to be more careful who you fuckin wit, beyotch! 

*chorus* 
(line 4) I'm through playin with your punk ass 

Shouts goes out, to my well known road dog 
What's up Dozun Tru, they don't understand it baby 
they can't fade us out here on these Compton streets (beyotch) 
It's bigger than they can imagine 
To the whole entire Death Row family 
Both sides, whassup niggaz 
And my nigga big Suge, known for keepin shit poppin 
To my nigga Big J, my little nigga Hi-C, little straight G 
And that little singin ass nigga Danny Boy 
Y'all don't understand, y'all can't fade this 
I'M the first nigga that was "Bangin on Wax" 
Yeah if you remember, nineteen eighty-seven underground tapes 
And it don't stop, and it won't stop

Видео-клип к песне Dollaz + Sense

Размести это видео у себя на сайте:

Код видео
скопирован в буфер