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Now let's get down to business, bitches |
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'Cause it seems like y'all just keep on tryin' to diss this |
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Nigga that you know that's been down for years |
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I've clowned for years, and y'all could never fade my peers |
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One two three four five six seven nine, ten, Eiht you can't win |
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'Cause all the way around nigga I gets respect |
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And youse a nigga that can't even get no props in your set |
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Tragniew Park you say huh |
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Wanna be rippin', but now it's time to do some set trippin' |
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So listen close, 'cause I don't want y'all to miss |
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That I'm bout to break it down for this bitch, check it |
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Acacia, Poplar Maple Spruce Cedar Elm |
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West side trees sprayin' all the fleas |
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that's from the three and four hundred block P-Funk riders |
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So niggaz watch yo' ass at that center divider |
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Now Aaron Tyler, tell my why you seem so tame |
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When I caught you at the airport, shakin' like a crap game |
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You looked up and you seen my niggaz comin |
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And you looked like your bitch ass was 'bout to start runnin' |
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But all I wanted to do was kick a little conversation |
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And see if we can fix this little situation |
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But would I fuck you up was what you wondered |
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Yeah, that's probably why you changed your little pager number |
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But bitches like you don't grow |
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You can't even look me in my eye, let alone go toe to toe |
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And callin' me skinny, youse a clown |
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I'ma call you Theo, 'cause you weigh ninety-two point three pounds |
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Wack ass actor, movie script killer |
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Fool don't you know, Quik is still the nigga |
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Compton psycho, boy you oughta quit |
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Your records don't hit, and bitches don't jock your shit |
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You need to stay down you Compton clown |
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And get off of the nuts of the niggaz with guts |
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Because I'm down with the Trees, I'm down with Death Row |
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I'm down with Black Tone, and I'm down with the fo' |
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So when we cross paths and I hope that's soon |
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I'ma boot your motherfuckin' ass to the moon |
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You need to quit bangin' under false pretense |
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'Cause if don't make dollars, it don't make sense |
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If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense |
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So don't kill game, let the pimpin' commence |
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If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense |
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So don't kill game, let the people, commence |
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If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense |
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So don't kill game, let the pimpin' commence |
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If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense |
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Because you gotta give it up to the crown prince |
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Now I'ma swing it to the right and, right into the left hand |
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Take a deep breath and, cook it like a chef and |
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This is dedicated to the C-P-T |
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No better yet T-T-P, or the niggaz that look up to me |
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I make it my business, to be that true forever |
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And whenever I can come clever well that's my endeavor |
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So whether or not you understand, that there's only one DJ Q-U-I-K |
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With no C still you can't be me |
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Because I'm floatin' in my Lex and, depositin' fat checks and |
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Gettin mad sex while I floss the NSX and |
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Doin' what I wanna, and youse a goner nigga |
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For thinkin that you can catch me slippin' on a street corner |
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Remember Compton's in the house, and Quik is in the hood |
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Sippin' yak with all my niggaz 'cause it's tooted good |
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So don't knock it till you try it, 'cause Eiht he tried to knock it |
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But he's still walkin' round with my nuts in his pocket |
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So put tha P in it represent and sip that Miller |
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And for those of y'all concerned, this is still Eiht Killa |
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Let me take a load off my scrotum little pest |
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If it don't make dollars nigga, you know the rest |
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If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense |
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So don't kill game, let the pimpin' commence |
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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 |
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If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense |
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Because you gotta give it up to the crown prince |
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Now I done sold my fuckin' soul to the shit that I kick |
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While you groupie ass niggaz keep on ridin' the dick |
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You oughta know that DJ Quik ain't your average |
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Everyday motherfucker, slick like a snake 'cause I stuck ya |
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Now, I never had my dick sucked by a man befo' |
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But you gon' be the first you little trick ass hoe |
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Then you can tell me just how it taste |
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But before I nut I shoot some piss in your face |
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You fuckin' coward, tremblin' like a nervous wreck |
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'Cause when I caught your ass, you put yourself in check |
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And when you left my presence, you left expedient |
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You ain't no fuckin' killer, youse a comedian, beyotch |
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Tell me why you act so scary |
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Givin' your set a bad name wit your misspelled name |
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E-I-H-T, now should I continue |
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Yeah you left out the G 'cause the G ain't in you |
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Remember that time you was rollin' on the West side |
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And a little brown bucket pulled up on your side |
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Caught at that light in your Camry in the midst of a |
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Real killer, tell me did you feel a little nervous |
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You was in the shadow of death with two trey-five-sevens |
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Pointed at your chest whatchu gon' do, where was your |
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Niggaz that kill at you ain't got no killers so kill dat |
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Holdin' up your hands and beggin' for a pass |
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You lucky they didn't just to get to dumpin' on yo' ass |
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'Cause this game you think is funny is some real shit |
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So you need to be more careful who you fuckin' wit, beyotch! |
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If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense |
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So don't kill game, let the pimpin' commence |
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If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense |
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I'm through playin' with your punk ass |
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If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense |
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So don't kill game, let the pimpin' commence |
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If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense |
|
Because you gotta give it up to the crown prince |
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Shouts goes out, to my well known road dog |
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What's up Dozun Tru, they don't understand it baby |
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They can't fade us out here on these Compton streets |
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It's bigger than they can imagine to the whole entire |
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Death Row family both sides, whassup niggaz |
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And my nigga Big Suge, known for keepin' shit poppin' |
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To my nigga Big J, my little nigga Hi-C, little straight G |
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And that little singin' ass nigga Danny Boy |
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Y'all don't understand, y'all can't fade this |
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I'm the first nigga that was \"Bangin' on Wax\" |
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Yeah if you remember, nineteen eighty-seven underground tapes |
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And it don't stop, and it won't stop |
