Lyrics:
Who? Mike Jones
Who? Mike Jones
Who? Mike Jones
Shyeah
Keep ya eyes open
For them jackers, baby
It's goin' down
Even though the laws patrollin'
fews
Foolz hit da dance floor, to shake shoes
Intect ya like a hip hop monsta who sucks Oooohhhs
Outta da power that I used that I used ta sock prower
and yo soul rise high
remember the DEAD don't die less they F*** WIT' I !!!
[Ja Rule]
N****z know who dope yo
S*** the flow is retched
And my gee
California
Population none in the desert and sun
Wit' a gun cracker
Runnin' things under his thumb
Starin' hard at the postcards
Isn't it odd and unique?
what
Who the fuck think they want it wit Neek
you get it off yo chest in the booth or out on these streets
The bitches love the barely broke mob
what
Who the fuck think they want it wit Neek
you get it off yo chest in the booth or out on these streets
The bitches love the barely broke mob
majority grudgin' against the enemy
And any other nigga wit an attitude see
And any other rapper whose a brother
Who try to speak to one another
Gets
about me
Niggaz know, ain't nothing sweet about me
Get back to questions, like "50, who shot ya?...
You think it was Preme, Freeze or Tah, Tah?"
Nigga,
and mayonnaise, and we smoke always
Passing by these haters like we got all A's
[Backbone]
Say say say say Crack, what's the word on the street?
Nothing but
ooh yeah
You lovin' on Chuck
Fuckin' wit Chuck, ooh yeah
Swerve in a Rover
I told her come over
Roll like a boulder
Never cold shoulder
Ya girl
cocky,
And asked them do they come to this club a lot,
Well ya got a brotha hot,
Hop in my bubble drop,
Can I get a double shot?
Or get wit these
Floyd hit 'em
It was never beef everything was soy wit 'em
Ex rhythm hunter, used to enjoy rhythm,
As the years went by he learned more wisdom
Always
the hell what we know if you ain't know round here
You say the wrong thang, will get ya back blown round here
The gangsta's rep they hood, by the zone
want no problems we soldiers
(chorus)
We no limit soldiers
I thought I told ya
We no limit soldiers
I thought I told ya
(big ed)
I hit you wit the -
on that tag on yo' toe
Now who gon tell yo mother, her baby's under a cover in the morgue
Stiff as a log, sniffed out by the dogs
Son of a hard headed
the Bane
Came up in the game wit some muthafuckin' disdain
ciy-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya
ciy-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya
ciy-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya
ciy-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya
Who
have no problem wit' Jay
I do have problems wit' people who twist the words that I say
My city blame me for people who I never beefed wit' at all
They
on down ta tha west,
An' let (westside!!) tha road ride down on ya
California, love is what ya crave so on ya grave
it's gon' read: "Here lie Fifty, who
are
Against saying what we want to say the right way
Ya know what I'm saying, so what we're gonna do
Is kick back, swing a little funky beat by my
play wit' they nose
If ya like, she blow in ya butt
Eat ya dick and then lick ya nuts
If I wasn't rappin' baby, I'd still be drivin' this shit
Makin'
I got a head, but ain't no screws in it
(money, money, money by the ton)
I got a head, but ain't no screws in it
(money, money, money by the ton)
born hustler
Won't try to cut ya, pull out my 4 4 and bust ya
Yo babe no time for fakin' jacks
Cuz niggas who fake jacks get laid on their backs
Fuck Ya, fuck ya, fuck ya, fuck ya
[PMD]
Aiyyo I detonate on impact
So niggaz better get back
The playahaters stay off the dick, P ain't wit that
weight by the key and backed up every gram
And stay ready for busting wit the pistol in they hand
I'm preaching murder like a vicious reverend
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