what I'm sayin? E-a-ski, rally ral and master p. But yo ski. Kick it like this g. [e-a-ski] A nigga don't get no respect Unless a motherfucker gotta
not your G-O-D I got my soul on wax, I spin it back as I melt wax The unwritten, rhymes forbidden, but still hittin' The U-N-H-O-L-Y and I ain't bullshittin
broke And the bombast weed smoke that'll make a nigga choke To my loc's way down in the Valley deep To my homies in the Pound from L.A. and the Beach
's time to speak Oh that shit sounds nice Mike D come on and get it on y'all Talking shit about a mile a minute Put the wax on the table and let the
tenth But there's a pussy in your face and they can suck and dick Ridin' and slidin' with all that workin' and twerkin' You can't be no "G", 'cuz a "G
bump Tellin bj throw on the wax thats playin the therapy mix You said it was aiight, we made a remix Licks after licks take ticks Of the time clock B-d-buck a
mr. carters I'm in my own closet now thats a starter I wear my own kicks with a wicked jump shot I be the B.I.G. and the only 2 pac I cant forget big
what I'm sayin'? So Chuck, I got a feelin' You turn him into a Public Enemy, man Now remember that line you was kickin' to me On the way out to L.A. [
, on the S-P-O-T Leave without a motive or a C-L-U-E So get the bozack, E The MC Grand Royal on the microphone Terrorist, mafioso, A.K. E Capone I'm
, we hold the trophy Scorn your team all day so I suggest you change your goalie Cause I'm hype again, with E Double, on the mic again Crack a 40, spark a L, then pop a
when the mic's in my hand I kick rhymes like I'm a rap van damme And eat mc's like a cake or a slice of pie I'm not a pimp but I bop like I'm superfly
around that area, Joe and you just a punk,You Punk Bitch Joe" "Im a White Boy" "Ya, I can tell you a white boy, You a White Punk boy, What the fuck you
out Buck got shot up in CaShville And Sha Money told me Lloyd Banks got hit And Yayo just came home G-G-G-Unit Backstage at a D-12 concert A fan asked
and keys Sittin' on G's Catch a breeze When I ride by high Sittin' on Tonas Tearing up spots And blocks in my hood ain't got no corners Cause we done chipped 'em all off a
version of a rich man I've got a small van swerving through a big land I've got a road map that's looking a lot like a Math test A blocked phone number
to Brooklyn with A D I'm rippin' things daily, no if, ands or maybes At the F L and the A V, the O U R B A B E Kris, the Jungle Brothers, Tribe Called