Yo, we gon do it like this Straight out the parts. . . that they disregard Never considered . . . ok Now don't get mad, nigga get glad
Goodie got them brand new trash bags . . dag And they know where to dump that ass In the chair The hoochie river with the rest of the kids
That did business outside la familians Gettin ya touched Down the cut Blunts roastin whole through tea bags
Blowin bubbles out the wrong end Mud in your stool piles Flamin hotter than Dust Valley The gateway to where ever your sick tickle desire
The gangsters of this other century Transforming hustlers and players into sissies So slim goodie You don't want no drug boy
He'll leave you barefooted and pregnant Don't get too comfortable You ain't gon be here too long G's get locked up and die (clean)
Most lie in they own surreal home Trust the tree on the map This one individual thought he was the Grim Reaper Swole, couldn't nobody put a finger on his naps
Now he up under the bridge stankin In his birthday suit Used to always holler about how he was gon do a brother (get him!) Beat him to the punch-line, one ?
Being forced into early retirement at the age of 26 Palms feel like bricks - peeling from distributing crack Crumb snatchers and goo-gobblers struggle To stay on top of sand dunes 'Cause mouths born with silver spoons
Make your bed you gotta sleep in it But stakes made Baking soda kept the knees clean Narrow like a ravine
? fell good news Last hole, green jacket worn, body in two Left by oh-no Soul been gone, disappeared like the dune
Once the temperature rise But I'm with my Lawd (lord) ?Please grits, still ship Half the pipes are gettin sold out convienience stores
Where ya at now? coming around trying to sniff out sounds Well rounded kept you strictly grounded for your ear The dogs are gettin closer to the ? now can you hear?
I smell fear and even if your eyes was closed Your ass couldn't catch your tear
Lies, straws, mirrors and plates Nicks, dimes, fifties, and cakes Why can't I escape These lies, straw, mirrors and plates?
In the land of jacks I got my acts over the tracks with stacks Upon the map in the vault Where this cat's trying to sniff me out I'm in the southwest woods working all about
Paper capers, never hurt them brothers to obtain If I can't refrain cause some of these niggaz snortin cain And really don't know which way to go Confused, you'll abuse anybody for a fix
Hits go for ten bucks, go for 20 and they good and plenty Fat baggies like ?Maggies? muffin Where the kid do the stuffin Silly of these young niggaz watching me
As I turn figures into solitare Twirl up my hair (down south) Pray ...
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