Lyrics: King Tee. Thy Kingdom Come. Where's T.

(feat. Dr. Dre)

[Dr. Dre:]
Ay, ay, ay where the fuck did Tee just go?

[Chorus x2: singer]
Where is Tee?
And what's going on?

[Over Chorus: Dr. Dre + (King Tee)]
Where the fuck is Tee?
(Right here, here I come y'all)
Which way did he come? (Here I come)
Which way did he go?
(Hah, over here)
(Hah, here I come)
Yeah, kick that shit

[King Tee:]
Set out to check my trap, twist the mode on grind
Tryna soothe my brain with my money or my mind
Besides busting rhymes, I'm real good at doing crimes
Infected with the code of the street and gang signs
What's that line? Fuck a bitch, won't make a nigga rich
I make a nigga switch from shot calling to a bitch
Off the wall, my niggas never heard of y'all
Can't trust 'em, all up in the mix near hustlers
Stop fronting, I came to represent the W
Hood rats, top dogs and thugs too
Thought you knew, but obviously not, you're through
You need protection from King Tee's resurrection
Peep the session, loc get the full +Tee+ spoon
Swallow it fast cause I'm about to leave soon
For the moon, smoking big bubble toots
In the suburban, sipping on the 'gnac
Now we swerving past moms, gang affiliated rap stars
In motion, tryna get paid for the potion
Top notch, the killer with the Rolex watch
With many karats, step up on the stage and straight tear it
Into pieces, ain't a greater man except Jesus
Who can touch me, bet a hundred thou' you couldn't bust me
The original Likwit rough grammer
Protected by the gat and bandana, who am I...

[Chorus x2]

[Dr. Dre:]
Ay you know what...
Looking at my Rolex, it's about that time
To crack open the Hennessey and roll up a dime
Line after line, I'm blowing your mind
Disrespect and get the nine to your spine
A gang of niggas try but they never come close to
The big time player living like I'm supposed to
So when you see me rolling in the Testarossa
You can best believe I got the strap in my holster
Mobbing son, popping +Robbin-son+ like +Sugar Ray+
Put your gun away or get done away like fait
Got beats and stock cops, you never see the props stop
Steady dippin, stripping emcees like a chop shop
Now who wanna get with the black Frank Nitti?
I ran through your city and left with my boots shitty
Nobody gets looser than this producer
Coordinate tracks that's live, three or four cars to ride
Oh, coming out of L.A. regulating the West coast
East coast and between coasts, then I'm ghost
I know you're bobbing your head cause I can see ya
But you can't see me, the D-R-E and the King Tee

[Chorus x2]