Dollaz + Sense-DJ Quik

Now let's get down to business, b**ches 'Cause it seems like y'all just keep on tryin' to diss this Ni**a 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 ni**a I gets respect And youse a ni**a 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 b**ch, check it Acacia, Poplar Maple Spruce Cedar Elm West side trees sprayin' all the fleas that's from the three and four hundred block P-Funk riders So niggaz watch yo' a** at that center divider 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 niggaz comin And you looked like your b**ch a** was 'bout to start runnin' But all I wanted to do was kick a little conversation And see if we can fix this little situation But would I f**k you up was what you wondered Yeah, that's probably why you changed your little pager number But b**ches 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 a** actor, movie script killer Fool don't you know, Quik is still the ni**a Compton psycho, boy you oughta quit Your records don't hit, and b**ches don't jock your sh*t You need to stay down you Compton clown And get off of the nuts of the niggaz 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 motherf**kin' a** to the moon You need to quit bangin' under false pretense 'Cause if don't make dollars, it don't make sense 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 niggaz 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 ni**a 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 niggaz 'cause it's tooted good So don't knock it till you try it, 'cause Eiht he tried to knock it But he's still walkin' round with my nuts in his pocket So put tha P in it represent and sip that Miller And for those of y'all concerned, this is still Eiht Killa Let me take a load off my scrotum little pest If it don't make dollars ni**a, you know the rest 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 done sold my f**kin' soul to the sh*t that I kick While you groupie a** niggaz keep on ridin' the dick You oughta know that DJ Quik ain't your average Everyday motherf**ker, 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 a** hoe Then you can tell me just how it taste But before I nut I shoot some piss in your face You f**kin' coward, tremblin' like a nervous wreck 'Cause when I caught your a**, you put yourself in check And when you left my presence, you left expedient You ain't no f**kin' 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 West side 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 You was in the shadow of death with two trey-five-sevens Pointed at your chest whatchu gon' do, where was your Niggaz 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' a** 'Cause this game you think is funny is some real sh*t So you need to be more careful who you f**kin' 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 a** 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 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 It's bigger than they can imagine to the whole entire Death Row family both sides, whassup niggaz And my ni**a Big Suge, known for keepin' sh*t poppin' To my ni**a Big J, my little ni**a Hi-C, little straight G And that little singin' a** ni**a Danny Boy Y'all don't understand, y'all can't fade this I'm the first ni**a that was "Bangin' on Wax" Yeah if you remember, nineteen eighty-seven underground tapes And it don't stop, and it won't stop