comin' Fool, you won't catch me runnin' Verse Three (EP Version): Stop your flow like its menopause the men all pause Cramp your style like P.M.S Suckers checking for
I be that rude boy, bad boy, comin from the ville Step to the Boot Camp, somebody get killed by me The T-O-P, D-O-G, or my nigga Mr. S-T-R-A-N-G Some
with your cash Mobbing I mash out, you ass out Left you shot up in your seven-trey glasshouse Because you don't know me like you think you do, I'm down for thefetty Ready to die for
gon' get with you bitch And dont even think they gon' sit with you bitch No talkin' and walkin' 'cause that shit is funny style You pay me and lay me
and I step wit a tec 9 Ready to put somethin up in that ass so you respect mine Fool, Death Row ain't +Lynchin+ and the Pound ain't +Mobbin+ We all don't
broccoli now, takes me out Smokin that broccoli now, takes me out [E-40] Smell me on this one, check it out Hit up for 5, and hold it for 10, I'm true
be Well it's a brand new day So leave me be I dont need you so dont need me Your opinion don't interest me Dont like me thats fine by me Coz from
me on the rebound It's the P to the O to the D from the T to the H to the U to the G You hoes ain't got mo' killas than me So muthafuck what you's thinkin
ain't alone nigga trust us Follow me down these wicked streets I grew up on Wanna sound like us Ain't nothing to do we come for you kiss mommy bye-bye
for me and my doggs [soopa fly] Yeah, '94, became a d-o, double-g, p-o, u-n-d, gangsta Now you can see me smokin' dank in neighborhood, pranksta' Play
Still bills I'm payin', still for meals I'm prayin' In the meanwhile, I stayed me and wait, De life ain't great, But it's better than the jobs from state
your everyday street smarts, give you a deep thought To reach his death be houndin me Soldiers that's surroundin me And cobras that fill in pounds, with rounds for downin me
firm ground Pass the dutchie while I, handle the Henny thinkin You never catch me sleepin, stay on top of this properly I know they watchin me, if not they probably waitin for
seven-one-oh-three, rest them car thieves Guzzlin quart for sports of all sorts Nonchalant spark buddah on the front porch at courts, F-U-N-K-D-O-C S-P-O-T
told Daz we about to fry niggas like fries And seperate them by 5's, and light up the skies Crip that D.P., K-U-R-U-P-T Dippin' and I'm out, put a dick
beating in time Ana log drum patterns new millennium P.I's [Chorus] [Oldwun:] It's Tha Kid Oldwun I got the tune for the streets, for the floor Ain't