Lyrics:
Canibus]
Yo, sittin on chrome, sittin on low pro 20 inch firestones
Grippin the road with the wickedest flow, 'Bis is a pro
I zigzag throughout
deep.
I've checked the twenty-four hours,
I've done the stay-up-all-night;
In a certain way that's power,
But it's not wired up right.
Up for
Cancun
20 bitches runnin' 'round nude
I fuck her bottom we fuckin' them by the two
I got water drippin' out my jewels
If it ain't Actavis nigga it
ho's done heard of you, that dirty do
Anything to attract them ho's
Hang out the window with they shirt off throwin' up them fours
This how it go, you
[W Ballz D.J.]
Oh y'all just want to do with out the beat
Uh well fuck it we gon' do it like this
On radio station mother fucking 187.4 bitch
W
Fort Knox - i don't wanna hold the fort down
All fat - you don't wanna put the fork down
Four thots - ain't enough I want some more now
Back that ass up
Baby wanted snaps, twenties by the dozen
I guess the tramp thought that the E was buzzin
I couldn't fade it, why the hell should I jib?
Got the 20 sack
check the records that ain't well known
And look around and see all my clones
[ VERSE 4 ]
By the time I'm in my 30s my worth be - I bet I'm dirty rich
the streets at midnight, the little terror
Huh, I get better by the letter
A true breed, head to juvenile once more
A twenty bag of funk, shall I say more?
Been playin' twenty questions with twenty-four cans
24/7 'til I understand
I sent a prayer up for a helpin' hand
But it musta got stopped by
won't go to sleep
Huh, what? 'Cause this how they eat
Uh, young nigga, twenty-two, ten M's up
2021 X7, fuck a Benz truck
Twenty-four shots in his
and I need (for real, though)
These niggas ain't fuckin' with me
In twenty-four hours, sold a hunnid Ps (a hundo)
These niggas ain't fuckin' with me
Jean
She's not handsome or good-looking
Scarcely sixteen
And a fellow she was courting
Now she's twenty-four
She's a son and a daughter
Here am I,
why they stay down, they loyal citizens of Zamunda
By way of A-T-L; if you disagree
don't even look at me ho don't pass go just go straight to jail
With
As my Daytons spin low rider sitting low
Hitting corners so hard you could taste my rims
Rag top 6-4 Hsenny in the passenger side
Smoking chronic
MCs, how? To rhyme first
Of course you rap last, so you can show off your skirt
I guess it didn't work on "4 3 2 1"
You got out done by
the time
Nothing but paper and pussy and the finer things on my mind
I had to Shine
By any means necessary I had to go out and get it
And come back wit
Was eighteen years old, out on my own
Out to get what I saw as mine
By '92 I was twenty-one
I was back out on the street
Two whole years of county
California where us youngstas slang that cocaine
and we be hoppin it up and choppin it up and rockin it up
to tens twenties fifties and hundreds
up in ya gut
Give it to them raw like that
And ain't no love I do em all like that
Four right up in they back
Clak Clak
Close your eyes baby, it's over
(Go right in now you know)
The ghetto chancellor (yeah)
Candle lights the block, my Goose from Canada
Twenty-four karat Lazarus, portable camera
Electric when you slide on me
Seven days of the week, twenty-four hours a day
I'm wondering where the time goes while I'm stuck in your gaze
I'm begging
(Great John on the beat by the way)
I was on tour for four months we was overseas (Greenlight Gang)
Did fifty-five shows in forty-five countries (woah)
Welcome to the ghetto
Livin' day by day in my hood on the spot
See the same old things:same dope fiends cops
Just an average day in the streets
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