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    DJ Quik / Lyrics

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    "Dollaz + Sense" Lyrics

    DJ Quik

    Now let's get down to business, bitches
    Cause it seems like y'all just keep on tryin to diss this
    Nigga 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 nigga I gets respect
    and youse a nigga 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 bitch, 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 niggaz watch yo' ass at that center divider *gun blast*)
    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 bitch 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 fuck you up was what you wondered
    Yeah, that's probably why you changed your little pager number (punk ass)
    But bitches 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 nigga
    Compton psycho, boy you oughta quit
    Your records don't hit, and bitches don't jock your shit
    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 motherfuckin ass 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 nigga
    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 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 scrotum little pest
    If it don't make dollers nigga, you know the rest


    Now I done sold my fuckin soul to the shit that I kick
    While you groupie ass niggaz keep on ridin the dick
    You oughta know that DJ Quik ain't your average everyday motherfucker
    (hah) 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 ass hoe
    Then you can tell me just how it taste
    But before I nut I shoot some piss in your face
    you fuckin 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 fuckin 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 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' ass
    Cause this game you think is funny is some real shit
    So you need to be more careful who you fuckin wit, beyotch!

    (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 niggaz
    And my nigga big Suge, known for keepin shit poppin
    To my nigga Big J, my little nigga Hi-C, little straight G
    And that little singin ass nigga Danny Boy
    Y'all don't understand, y'all can't fade this
    I'M the first nigga that was "Bangin on Wax"
    Yeah if you remember, nineteen eighty-seven underground tapes
    And it don't stop, and it won't stop
    This song was submitted on February 18th, 2005 and last modified on November 24th, 2016.
    Copyright with Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group.
    Written by David Marvin Blake.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

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