[Verse 1] Now let's get down to business, bitches Cause it seems like y'all just keep on tryin to diss this Nigga that you know that's been down for years I've clowned for years and y'all could never fade my peers One two three four five six seven Nine ten Eiht you can't win Cause all the way around nigga I gets respect And youse a nigga that can't even get no props in your set Tragniew Park you say huh Wanna be rippin, but now it's time to do some set trippin So listen close, cause I don't want y'all to miss That I'm bout to break it down for this bitch, check it Acacia, Poplar Maple Spruce Cedar Elm Westside trees sprayin all the fleas That's from the three and four hundred block P-Funk riders (So niggas watch yo' ass at that center divider *gun blast*) Now Aaron Tyler, tell my why you seem so tame When I caught you at the airport, shakin like a crap game You looked up and you seen my niggas comin And you looked like your bitch ass was bout to start runnin But all I wanted to do was kick a little conversation (yo whatup) And see if we can fix this little situation But would I fuck you up was what you wondered Yeah, that's probably why you changed your little pager number (punk ass) But bitches like you don't grow You can't even look me in my eye, let alone go toe to toe And callin me skinny, youse a clown I'mma call you Theo, cause you weigh ninety-two point three pounds Wack ass actor, movie script killer Fool don't you know, Quik is still the nigga Compton psycho, boy you oughta quit Your records don't hit, and bitches don't jock your shit You need to stay down you Compton clown And get off of the nuts of the niggas with guts Because I'm down with the Trees, I'm down with Death Row I'm down with Black Tone, and I'm down with the fo' So when we cross paths and I hope that's soon I'mma boot your motherfuckin ass to the moon You need to quit bangin under false pretense Cause if don't make dollars, it don't make sense
[Hook] If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense So don't kill game, let the pimpin commence (x3) Because you gotta give it up to the crown prince
[Verse 2] Now I'mma swing it to the right and, right into the left hand Take a deep breath and, cook it like a chef and This is dedicated to the C-P-T No better yet T-T-P, or the niggas that look up to me I make it my business, to be that true forever And whenever I can come clever well that's my endeavor So whether or not you understand, that there's only one DJ Q-U-I-K With no C still you can't be me Because I'm floatin in my Lex and, depositin fat checks and Gettin mad sex while I floss the NSX and Doin what I wanna, and youse a goner nigga For thinkin that you can catch me slippin on a street corner Remember Compton's in the house, and Quik is in the hood Sippin yak with all my niggas cause it's tooted good So don't knock it til you try it, cause Eiht he tried to knock it But he's still walkin round with my nuts in his pocket (beyotch) So put tha P in it represent and sip that Miller And for those of y'all concerned, this is still Eiht Killa *gun blast* Let me take a load off my scrotum little pest If it don't make dollars nigga, you know the rest
[Hook]
[Verse 3] Now I done sold my fuckin' soul to the shit that I kick While you groupie ass niggas keep on ridin the dick You oughta know that DJ Quik ain't your average everyday motherfucker (hah) Slick like a snake cause I stuck ya Now, I never had my dick sucked by a man befo' But you gon be the first you little trick ass ho Then you can tell me just how it taste But before I nut I shoot some piss in your face You fuckin coward, tremblin like a nervous wreck Cause when I caught your ass, you put yourself in check And when you left my presence, you left expedient You ain't no fuckin killer, youse a comedian, beyotch Tell me why you act so scary Givin your set a bad name wit your misspelled name E-I-H-T, now should I continue Yeah you left out the G cause the G ain't in you Remember that time you was rollin on the Westside And a little brown bucket pulled up on your side Caught at that light in your Camry in the midst of a REAL killer Tell me did you feel a little nervous (hell yeah) You was in the shadow of death With two trey-five-sevens pointed at your chest, hmm Whatchu gon do, where was your niggas that kill at You ain't got no killers so kill dat Holdin up your hands and beggin for a pass You lucky they didn't just to get to dumpin on yo' ass Cause this game you think is funny is some real shit So you need to be more careful who you fuckin wit, beyotch!
If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense So don't kill game, let the pimpin commence If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense I'm through playin with your punk ass If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense So don't kill game, let the pimpin commence If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense Because you gotta give it up to the crown prince
[Outro] Shouts goes out, to my well known road dog What's up Dozun Tru, they don't understand it baby They can't fade us out here on these Compton streets (beyotch) It's bigger than they can imagine To the whole entire Death Row family Both sides, whassup niggas And my nigga big Suge, known for keepin shit poppin To my nigga Big J, my little nigga Hi-C, little straight G And that little singin ass nigga Danny Boy Y'all don't understand, y'all can't fade this I'M the first nigga that was "Bangin on Wax" Yeah if you remember, nineteen eighty-seven underground tapes And it don't stop, and it won't stopTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
