Lyrics:
COD on the PS3
I'm like DP, or PE, or KRS from BDP
Download this on your MP3
Send it to your MP & MTV
You're not on this thing like ADD
Your CD I rate
in my pocket and at least a grand
Gold on my knuckle, my pistol's closed in hand
I'm a Dogg Pound Gangsta from the LBC
Remotely controlled by
live in California, drive a drop top
Roll by the beach, look at the freaks
jump in my car, I do it every week
DJ's who know call me Mister Short
All
And that's why I had to make this
Twenty-minute rap song
I'm 'bout to one take it
I just made my first album
Full of songs from the depths of my heart
lungs
Looking at my family like, "Damn y'all were the ones"
I sacrifice my life for hundreds, fifties, twenties
Tens, fives, and ones , so dumb
I'd
Ayy
Shittyboyz, Dog Shit Militia
Long live $cams, you know (Daisy Lane Records shit, nigga)
Yeah (it it ain't no)
Pussy-ass niggas, ain't got no
and robbery
And a twenty room mansion, buck-naked with a lot of freaks
It ain't cool if my people don't eat they part of the reason
I got away from all that
the Vegas strip
I rolled me up a wood
We playing cards
She said I'll take a hit
A pussy nigga hating, hope he lose nine lives
It's gon be hard for me to rise
hands, two eyes, yeah, okay
Said I got two hands, two eyes, ten whips (yeah)
Two hands, two eyes (damn)
Double seat, double mute (mm-hmm)
Penthouse
pay for no parking spot
Had to recount my knot
'Cause it ain't no tellin' how
Much cash I got
I got blue hundreds, big face fifties
And twenties it
set and I'll never release; I ain't
resting in peace. Death is a beast.
X marks the spot; checkmark the box. (The sharp,
crooked blade'll stop your
Shit, niggas got me higher than a motherfucker off up in here, man
Damn, the fuck y'all get this weed from
Motherfucker overdose or some shit off
the promoter?
Thank you
Did you get the money from the promoter?
That's right
Give it up for Roxanne Shanté
Live on stage
Come on, give it up one more
I roll
I never gave a damn, my juice gonna slam
I'm at I.H.O.P. eaten some breakfast and some yams
My partner Scott chilling at the motherfucking crib
I roll
I never gave a damn, my juice gonna slam
I'm at I.H.O.P. eaten some breakfast and some yams
My partner Scott chilling at the motherfucking crib
Damn!
[Chorus - Sekou 720 - 2X - w/ ad libs]
Queens is back, Queens is back
Nigga Queens is back, Queens is back
Man Sekou ain't the toughest
I'll
fifty)
Let that pistol go when I was nineteen years old (nineteen, uh)
First time I turned twenty, I was cashin' out on gold (uh, gang)
Rich nigga
dead
On the spot
It's a tragedy when I spin' yo fuckin' block
A nigga, from BlackConnect
Will leave ya wet
Fa' sho yo' face is on the next
If ya
Damn Gucci Mane, you so unruly
If I'm standing in ya way, then pussy nigga
Come move me 10-17, yeah that's my movement
Got 10 young killers on the back
And if you movin weight
Treat yo'self to an uzi
The first hit for free (damn)
But the next time you see me
You betta have twenty G
5.
because they need a P-I-P-E, ugh
Get the fuck from in front of my spot
I'm 'bout to open my window and unload my motherfuckin' Glock
Blaow, damn, I see
Quarterback rap, improve your jewels
Fuck silver, we sport platinum and black
How platinum is that?
Snatch my album, from y'all capital saps
It's
head, we takin' the hood back
Damn, I coulda swore they gave ya ass ten flat
Now you're home, somethin' wrong, we takin' the hood back
You liar,
down the way a fat bitch eat chocolate chip cookies
I put it down like it's 300 pounds, SPOT ME
I put it down the way Mr. T did the first time he
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