Face Facts (Feat. Too Rude And Dog Boy)-Kottonmouth Kings

Figured out long time ago Nothing's as it seems don't you know Go underground if you want the scoop Cuz the population's out the loop You know I size up my sacks with a couple extra grams D-Loc got a caddy, I got a V-Dub van, X Daddy rolled a fatty, asked him "What's the plan?" He took a hit, blew out his rip And said, "Let's plant the land" Yeah I smoke some w**d, just a little somethin somethin Don't hate me because I got the country buzzin Leave cats shocked, you know the crowd be jumpin On my pride it blows like a chemical combustion My real name's Dustin, I spit these customs AKA D-Loc, E-Loc's little cousin Don't be mad, be glad, tell your dad Cuz I be spittin' rhymes you never knew I even had (?) (into the store?), double parked and got a ticket By a midget on a pony, I called him shorty He started twitchin, fingers clickin While he's bitchin, and I snapped I had a vision, I was leading in the useless race I had the pole position, no but kiddin' And I didn't make that mess up in your kitchen I was dishin' out some sacks, and me and Loc, well we were fishin I keep wishin' that you'd ease on up and quit it with your trippin Maybe smoke a bit more w**d and stop it with that candy flippin Let's face facts, chips get stacked Unsystematically our pockets get fat And we kick back, pimp caddilacs Smoke off pounds, flip dime sacks Think you can out smoke me, well I'm calling you a liar Cuz my bowl, I set it on fire I'm on my couch with my pouch and my fat JB Got ten different types of w**d, about a pound of each No leaves, they're clipped clean But the few they hit the bing Then my phone rings, my boy askin what he need to bring I said some coligreen, some kale, some pot, and some ale And that freak we met last night, I think her name was uh... Michelle Ah what the hell, just put out the word Any hottie with the nerve, Richter said that he will serve Graduated high school back in '95, started writin' rhymes Laid low, I'm hard to find A kid like me, no less, I'm kinda fresh Discovered the w**d, took a hit and got blessed I'm not the best, just flexed on the next Daddy X plan a text, simply not complexed I'll give it all I got, put the game to a test Keep writin' rhymes and forget about the rest Let's face facts, chips get stacked Unsystematically our pockets get fat And we kick back, pimp caddilacs Smoke off pounds, flip dime sacks Ooh damn, there he goes again Throwin' his cigarettes out the window Blowin' fog with logs, sticky indo You know it comes a dime a dozen Flow like Snoop, lay it back in the cut and Woo, I think I'll pass on the brew And smoke my buds with the Kottonmouth Krew, The big bad a**, you know who Well, I really can't tell if there's a difference anymore Goin' up or goin' down, where's the elevator door? Got the pimped out suite on the 13th floor Black Flag's in my speakers blarin' "Gimme some more" Nowadays I stay blazed, a hundred ways, my brain's crazed Gone like those punk days, I'm stackin' chips like Frito, Lays I've been to that place, fast cars, cheap thrills Funny looking pills, million dollar deals Three day orgys in the Hollywood Hills, for real I don't be speakin' no myths, raised on punk rock riffs Smokin' spliffs by the cliffs And you and your crew's talking about "What if...?"'s Let's face facts, chips get stacked Unsystematically our pockets get fat And we kick back, pimp caddilacs Smoke off pounds, flip dime sacks All this talk of gettin' blazed, reminds me of reggae Sundays Lazy dread and sweaters bust, the Crenshaw District lord was a must Burnin' spliffs to tell (?), hittin' little Jamaica's rockin record shops (?) in stock and cravin (egg?) eating stones, (?) All this talk of gettin' blazed, reminds me of punk rock ways Babylon could never rock our boat, all I need (?) That's what's really goin' on, life's too short to be a victim If you don't like what you got, respond When time has come to make a move, down to you to come up and prove It's time to make a change, so chose Let's face facts, chips get stacked Unsystematically our pockets get fat And we kick back, pimp caddilacs Smoke off pounds, flip dime sacks Ganja business controls America