I got a head, but ain't no screws in it. Roll up and get swoll up. Hold up. How ya gonna play me like a sunkin' dunkin' donut? I ain't came a long way to get checked So give me respect when I get wreck or get your mothafuckin' chimp Check. Once again, it's your friend outta Oakland. Hoping I rock the shit to get ya open. Say your looking for some real shit. Then catch a funkdified batch. Like that! Oakland's on the map. Tupac is on the big screen strivin' Gotta love a nigga for survivin' I wear a lot of old schools jewels. Look how the fools ??, oh. Stop lookin' at me hard 'cause your buffer. But I'll just buck then bigger mothafuckas. Turnin' men to suckas. Niggas want to start a little ruckus. Better duck 'cause I'll be poundin' them mothafuckas. They want to throw their hands up. that's tight. Hit 'em with my eight. Never had shit left, right. Then hit 'em with the uppercut. Duck quick. Shit outta luck. Fucked and stuck with that rough shit. Fuck a pop song, fuck video, fuck Arsenio, fuck the radio. Do you hear me though? Give a holla to my niggas in the pen. And my murderous partners with their Mac 10's. I represent the real 'cause I'm ill, G. Glock cocked and then they kill me. I'm representin'. Peace to Redman, Tretch, Vin Rock, K-G the great one Mary J. Blidge, Pete Rock and sure you're late son. Heavy D, CL Smooth, and Queen Latifah. Too Short, Tony Toni Tone, And the Special motha fucka, Ed Lover, the Tribe, A Tribe Called Quest, And Jungle Brothas. Das Efx, EPMD, and Ice Cube. House of Pain: fuck these ? ass white dudes. Cypress Hill, yeah, the ill niggas. Digital Underground: my real niggas. Raw Fusion, all in house confusion. Wickeder than most men: Spice 1 and Pooh Man. TLC, Eric B rockin, then Scarface. Stretch, Mad K-Low, pumpin' the scars bass. Thorough Heads, Poonannynans, the Click. Mm, ?, Richie Rich. Young Guns in the house pumpin' the flava. DJ Ditch for their behavior. Off the head, my freestyle flow. Just a couple of motha fuckas that I know. I'm strictly representin 1 motha fucka, 2 motha fucka, 3 motha fuckas, Damn, who did I forget? I'm a soulja. Daddy was a soulja. Strong in the struggle. Must contend so it's on. Raised in a house full of bad mothafuckas. Mad mothafuckas. Never had so we grab from the stacked mothafuckas. Now they know me, the homies. Raised by some crazed ass well payed OG's. Ah shit! Pulled up in a benzy, snatch. The wheel as I peel out. Catch a cop's tail. Rock shells hit. Raise a fist so they know to make a hit. Can I flip it? I may get wicked as I rip it. To get specific: If the shoe fits, then kick it. It's for the gifted. Pump your fist if you with it. Here's your ticket to see Mr. Wicked rip shit. Now they want to maime me. (Told ya) All I wanted to be was a soulja. Bang bang boogy it's stick up. Quit now nigga, eat a dick up.
Written by: DWIGHT WYATT, JOSEPH ANTHONY CARTER, JOSEPH RONALD JR. SAYLES, KEVIN DELANCE SCOTT, TRUMAN JEFFERSON, TUPAC AMARU SHAKUR
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
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