| Well, here’s a little dose |
| From the half of the group you like the most |
| Straight from the Frisco City, West Coast |
| With somethin up my sleeve |
| It’s just my pep talk about these niggas who be trippin |
| About these niggas who be trippin about these niggas, oh my God, |
| they done failed |
| Each one of them’s some victims with some jaws that got swelled |
| With a hard blow from the steel-toed boots |
| Cause mama always said, «Boy, put them feet to use» |
| And don’t get mad cause we won’t flip-flop |
| Cause RBL’s just like a truck with no brakes, punk, it don’t stop |
| Like Tony the Tiger you know our shit is like great |
| Cause we ain’t comin corny like some of you Frosted Flakes |
| So meenie-meenie-meenie-moe |
| Should a nigga pick a hoe? |
| I think I squat to the house for the gat, I bring us back some indo |
| Pretend tho, if you wanna, I think I’m gonna |
| Step to the back and bust a cap |
| And watch yo 'real-ass' niggas scat |
| See, it be on on my block |
| We poppin a cop with a glock |
| Even them young niggas givin shots |
| We gives a fuck about a copper, gettin our propers |
| By burnin cops like ??? chopper |
| So ah — you can smoke an ounce to this (biatch) |
| While my niggas on the run smoke a stog and all bounce to this |
| We go front, back, side to side |
| «While you muthafuckas bounce to this» (Snoop Doggy Doggy) |
| So knick-knack-patty-wack, give a bitch a crack sack |
| And a fat smack with the muthafuckin nut sack |
| And bust back in a battle |
| I’m like a rattle snake, I don’t fake |
| Bust one cap out the eight in my gun |
| Run, you get stunned, I’m shootin for fun |
| I’m like a warrant havin niggas on the run |
| It’s the B-l-a to the c to the k |
| A nigga from that there city by the Bay |
| A nigga who gets his mug on and mack on, but anyway |
| On any day we can get em up or shoot em up |
| Havin that ass bounce three times while my nigga’s schoolin ya |
| It’s like 3 and to the 2 and 2 and to the 1 with a bang |
| It was 'a lesson to be learned,' but that’s a known thang |
| But niggas still ain’t learned they lesson |
| So we continue to make hits while you suckers keep guessin |
| Our style, our muthafuckin flavor |
| But don’t you even trip if you can’t cater |
| To the needs of party people, makin em movin, gettin em groovin |
| But 2 niggas in Frisco hats and Nike shoes can |
| And no one told me but I know I’m goin major |
| Cause all these punk hoes that’s for callin on my pager |
| But I just sit back and chop my beats like a ounce |
| And make yo trunk like a trampoline and watch my song bounce |
| Yeah, it’s '94 and I’m back on the spot |
| 72 class 455 block |
| Straight mashin down the windows up, full of contact |
| Me and my niggas just got through burnin a twamp sack |
| I’m rollin around high as fuck gurpin off some right |
| I hit the liquor store to get a 40 of St. Ides |
| Forty ounces, I bounce back to the |
| Hella took already and a nigga fit to be mo' off |
| I hit a cut and parked in some shade |
| Seen my nigga Baldhead walkin down the street, he said, «I got a fade» |
| He jumped in with fo' sacks of indo |
| He twisted up the dank as I hit the 4−0 |
| He said, «Let's ride and get up out the View |
| Because in the View really ain’t nothin to do» |
| Off to the O, see some hoes before we hit the freeway |
| 5 deep in a 5 Ac, see where we stay |
| I said, «Baby, I’m from the Lunatic village |
| In Frisco where the gold thangs keep spinnin» |
| You got niggas from Fillmore and Hunters Point |
| Who quick to smoke that ass just like a joint |
| But niggas ain’t set-trippin, just keep on dippin |
| Stand away from player-haters who save bitches |
| Cause niggas where I come from don’t save hoes |
| If you ain’t givin no ass up, well, bounce yo ass on |
| Biatch |