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It's on |
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Where they at, where they at, where they at |
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I sold tapes every day me and Freddy B |
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Been famous since 1983 |
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Give me ten dollars, and you straight get blessed |
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A rap all about you called the special request |
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Oakland, you know I go way back |
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To coug nuts, fal stangs, and cadillac's |
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When homeboys put vogues on any car |
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With 6 by 9's smoking burners |
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Everybody got addicted to my ****fiend beat |
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Whole town ****** around and started smoking D |
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Every rap I ever made was about this town |
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I made 7 whole albums with no James Brown |
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And even though I love his music, I just can't stand |
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The way they used it all up and didn't pay the man |
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And after 2 platnum albums, you call me weak |
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Cause I don't sell records in the East |
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Now what's funky, I say ************* on an old hoe |
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I guess y'all fools don't know |
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Why some good rappers can't sell no tapes |
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It's not the company's fault, the *************t sounds fake |
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You wanna be in the trunk, with the booming box |
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While the young ******* ride on your jock |
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You can't do it like this homey, so just pass it |
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And stop kissing them white folks asses |
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It's like you smoked a whole damn key |
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You rap so fast you keep leaving the beat |
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I'm from the old school, I love P-Funk |
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But now rap music is all that they want |
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So when I'm in my car, I play Clinton |
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And when I'm on the stage I start pimping |
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And when I hear your *************t, I push eject |
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Then I throw it out the window with the rejects |
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And when the hard core rappers go soft |
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I like to watch when they ass fall off |
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Cause ain't nothing worth kicking like a sucka MC |
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And any other rappers ever talk about me |
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I don't stop rapping, that's all they can say |
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And how I dogg *******, every day |
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But if you can't be a dogg, then you're weak |
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You be phony like a side show freak |
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Some rappers try to come off positive |
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Where I'm from that just ain't how it is |
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They say rap music is here to stay |
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But the sucka MC's don't think that way |
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It took 8 long years before I got my break |
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So I wonder why rapper's make fake ass tapes |
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You won't get paid like I did, so give up punk |
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And while your in the studio, I'm in the trunk |
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You got no choice, so don't flip that coin |
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This ain't the military, so you punks can't join |
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It ain't pop, it's called underground rap |
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From Oakland California and the *************t sounds phat |
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I'm spitting raps to my mother******g homies |
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That's why they listen to the one and only |
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I used to be broke, but now we all used to be |
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Got no game for a *************, all the game is for me |
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And these *******, can't say *************t to me |
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They could never could ************* with Short baby |
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I'm not a tounge twisting rapper with a funny style |
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Don't dress hip hop and dance real wild |
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But I do sell records like a mother******* |
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Even though you might I'm just another sucka |
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I find the beat and then never switch |
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Grab the microphone and then call you a ************* |
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You want rent money, I got pimp money |
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One thing's for sure, I won't give it to a hoe |
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I throw a ************* in the god damn trunk |
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And start slamming that Oakland funk |
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Short Dogg's in the house, once again |
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Trying to fade the platnum, with Shorty the Pimp |
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And when I do, I'm going straight to the bank |
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Withdraw some money and buy some dank |
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You can't relate to my mother******g homies |
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That's why they listen to the one and only |
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I grew up on the funk called P |
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But these mother*******s growing up on me |
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And if I ego trip, and my head is ****** |
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I take my ass back, to where I grew up |
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And get real boy, it's never too late |
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Before I do like you and make a weak ass tape |
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I'm in the trunk... |
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In the trunk, in, in the trunk |
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In the trunk, in, in the trunk |
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In the trunk beating down the block |
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In the trunk, in, in the trunk |
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In the trunk, in, in the trunk |
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In the trunk beating down the block |
