Mmm Now let's get down to business, ******* Cause it seems like y'all just keep on tryin to diss this ******* 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 ******* I gets respect and youse a ******* that can't even get no props in your set ? Trag new 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 ************, 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 *******z watch yo' ass at that center divider *gun blast*) Now Erik Titer, 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 *******z comin And you looked like your ************ ass was bout to start runnin But all I wanted to do was kick a little coversation (yo whatup) And see if we can fix this little situation But would I ******* you up was what you wondered Yeah, that's probably why you changed your little pager number (punk ass) But ******* 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'ma 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 ******* Compton psycho, boy you oughta quit Your records don't hit, and ******* don't jock your ************t You need to stay down you Compton clown and get off of the nuts of the *******z 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'ma boot your mother****** ass to the moon You need to quit bangin under false pretense Cause if don't make dollars, it don't make sense *chorus* 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 So don't kill game, let the people, commence 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 Now I'ma 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 *******z 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 *** while I floss the NSX and doin what I wanna, and youse a goner ******* 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 *******z 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 ******* little pest If it don't make dollers *******, you know the rest *chorus* Now I done sold my ****** soul to the ************t that I kick While you groupie ass *******z keep on ridin the ************ You oughta know that DJ Quik ain't your average everyday mother******* (hah) Slick like a snake cause I stuck ya Now, I never had my ************ sucked by a man befo' But you gon be the first you little trick ass hoe Then you can tell me just how it taste But before I nut I shoot some piss in your face you ****** 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 ****** 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 *******z 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 ************t So you need to be more careful who you ****** wit, beyotch! *chorus* (line 4) I'm through playin with your punk ass 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 *******z And my ******* big Suge, known for keepin ************t poppin To my ******* Big J, my little ******* Hi-C, little straight G And that little singin ass ******* Danny Boy Y'all don't understand, y'all can't fade this I'M the first ******* that was "Bangin on Wax" Yeah if you remember, nineteen eighty-seven underground tapes And it don't stop, and it won't stop
Mmm Now let's get down to business, ******* Cause it seems like y'all just keep on tryin to diss this ******* 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 ******* I gets respect and youse a ******* that can't even get no props in your set ? Trag new 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 ************, 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 *******z watch yo' ass at that center divider *gun blast*) Now Erik Titer, 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 *******z comin And you looked like your ************ ass was bout to start runnin But all I wanted to do was kick a little coversation (yo whatup) And see if we can fix this little situation But would I ******* you up was what you wondered Yeah, that's probably why you changed your little pager number (punk ass) But ******* 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'ma 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 ******* Compton psycho, boy you oughta quit Your records don't hit, and ******* don't jock your ************t You need to stay down you Compton clown and get off of the nuts of the *******z 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'ma boot your mother****** ass to the moon You need to quit bangin under false pretense Cause if don't make dollars, it don't make sense *chorus* 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 So don't kill game, let the people, commence 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 Now I'ma 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 *******z 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 *** while I floss the NSX and doin what I wanna, and youse a goner ******* 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 *******z 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 ******* little pest If it don't make dollers *******, you know the rest *chorus* Now I done sold my ****** soul to the ************t that I kick While you groupie ass *******z keep on ridin the ************ You oughta know that DJ Quik ain't your average everyday mother******* (hah) Slick like a snake cause I stuck ya Now, I never had my ************ sucked by a man befo' But you gon be the first you little trick ass hoe Then you can tell me just how it taste But before I nut I shoot some piss in your face you ****** 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 ****** 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 *******z 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 ************t So you need to be more careful who you ****** wit, beyotch! *chorus* (line 4) I'm through playin with your punk ass 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 *******z And my ******* big Suge, known for keepin ************t poppin To my ******* Big J, my little ******* Hi-C, little straight G And that little singin ass ******* Danny Boy Y'all don't understand, y'all can't fade this I'M the first ******* that was "Bangin on Wax" Yeah if you remember, nineteen eighty-seven underground tapes And it don't stop, and it won't stop
