Lyrics:
get rep to it
You get by on record but you wack on stage
So I'm blowing you up throwing hand grenades
[Parrish Smith]
That's why we roll
it be like run your coat black
Jupiter, keeps her fat beats by the pack
Where I'm from, nappy hair is life
We be reading Marx where I'm from
And the homey Kurupt about to blow shit up
So roll shit up, if you got a sack of that good
Have you trippin' like some sherm when we bounce through yo' hood
We
streets and they'll always be
Drive around to every school
Another place to Blaze a J
Kick the hacky sack to the floor
Chimpy on that Sycamore
Shout out
enough
It ain't enough It ain't enough
Feeling too good got me
Smoking like it ain't enough
I roll up a fat sack
Yeah I need it by the pound like
is a train on high
Tomorrow is monday
She was walking kickin dust upon the road
She was drownin weighed down by her load
Pressin gravely carvin deep
the cake will do
Tell em, fuck the shame, tell em
Fuck the game, don't let the game fuck you
Check it out
I, opened up shop at 13
Dimes, dubs, quarter
I, opened up shop at 13
Dimes, dubs, quarter sacks and O-Z's
From hand-held, digital to triple-beam
Now my pa-ger's an e-mail flip screen
Expanded my
cash
Wid cash on cash dub sacks new blocks
Baby S, El Drex, Kurupt, Trigga and Short Khop
When you see me wid the DPG
Just walk on by, nigga, just walk
In the roll like two sacks
Dub essential when my homey came up
On the same drug for layin up they holla who that
Double check, just a couple
feeling me why cause I'm getting dough
Wax game dry lean back like the limbo
Dub on cash app locked can't send mo
Hit me for the cutie slide it thru
And i'm like peanut butter in a freezer, too cold
The way you look at me you'd swear you were illiterate
I get the dub like reggae and start jitterin
When I
Tja, ich sag', die Geschichte geht „Es war einmal“
Klein Jan, Klein Dennis und ein Basketball
Vierzehn Jahre alt und ein Haar am Sack
Aber die
PK, yeah it's D-Day
cll them bitcrush kids got my shit on replay
"He say, she say" ain't got shit to relay
Be the blaze that'll get the whole
hooka smokes
She gives me headdaches man
And when my sack gets low
Sweet Mary swings on by
Breaks me off something proper
?That bowl king sized swagger?
where they raise you up
Tuck glocks shot's blaze you up
Big shot niggas fade you up
I'm in the cut where they fade you up
5-0-9, you can page me but
like Bruce, Lee get a victory
Cats is sick like H-I-V if they feelin' weak
We be Nikki Sacks, Jackie Frost, Scratchy
Danny Terrio, Dutch Schultz,
on yo' style for fun
Higher soul but to please myself I gotta be composin that fly shit
And you notifying alkaholiks daily
So punk mufucker you better dub
and Baby S got it macked to the tee
Just ride with me
Battlecat in the back with a sack on D's (on D's)
Ridin' with the young OG's (OG's)
Dippin'
Black Caesar blaze a sack, gave em daps, hold on that Jesus
We just in this rollercoaster, a soldier toaster
Left the little locs a-dead on the sofa,
gon' put you up on game
We got homies who sell straps
Homies who sell crack
Homies who sell the bomb chronic sacks and fat dubs
Givin'
gon' put you up on game
We got homies who sell straps
Homies who sell crack
Homies who sell the bomb chronic sacks and fat dubs
Givin'
town better have some bud
I graduated grads, got my diploma
I could tell by your aroma you smokin' on Arizona
But you ain't got no Cali Kush
You're
loungin in the car with my homey
He said he needed a dub so I slipped him one
And said "c'mon Mary Jane and let's have a little fun"
I got you in
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