Its on
Where they at, where they at, where they at
I sold tapes every day me and freddy b
Been famous since 1983
Give me ten dollars, and you straight get blessed
A rap all about you called the special request
Oakland, you know I go way back
To coug nuts, fal stangs, and cadillacs
When homeboys put vogues on any car
With 6 by 9s smoking burners
Everybody got addicted to my dopefiend beat
Whole town fucked around and started smoking d
Every rap I ever made was about this town
I made 7 whole albums with no james brown
And even though I love his music, I just cant stand
The way they used it all up and didnt pay the man
And after 2 platnum albums, you call me weak
Cause I dont sell records in the east
Now whats funky, I say pussy on an old hoe
I guess yall fools dont know
Why some good rappers cant sell no tapes
Its not the companys fault, the shit sounds fake
You wanna be in the trunk, with the booming box
While the young bitches ride on your jock
You cant do it like this homey, so just pass it
And stop kissing them white folks asses
Its like you smoked a whole damn key
You rap so fast you keep leaving the beat
Im from the old school, I love p-funk
But now rap music is all that they want
So when Im in my car, I play clinton
And when Im on the stage I start pimping
And when I hear your shit, I push eject
Then I throw it out the window with the rejects
And when the hard core rappers go soft
I like to watch when they ass fall off
Cause aint nothing worth kicking like a sucka mc
And any other rappers ever talk about me
I dont stop rapping, thats all they can say
And how I dogg bitches, every day
But if you cant be a dogg, then youre weak
You be phony like a side show freak
Some rappers try to come off positive
Where Im from that just aint how it is
They say rap music is here to stay
But the sucka mcs dont think that way
It took 8 long years before I got my break
So I wonder why rappers make fake ass tapes
You wont get paid like I did, so give up punk
And while your in the studio, Im in the trunk
You got no choice, so dont flip that coin
This aint the military, so you punks cant join
It aint pop, its called underground rap
From oakland california and the shit sounds phat
Im spitting raps to my motherfucking homies
Thats why they listen to the one and only
I used to be broke, but now we all used to be
Got no game for a bitch, all the game is for me
And these bitches, cant say shit to me
They could never could fuck with short baby
Im not a tounge twisting rapper with a funny style
Dont dress hip hop and dance real wild
But I do sell records like a motherfucker
Even though you might Im just another sucka
I find the beat and then never switch
Grab the microphone and then call you a bitch
You want rent money, I got pimp money
One things for sure, I wont give it to a hoe
I throw a bitch in the God damn trunk
And start slamming that oakland funk
Short doggs in the house, once again
Trying to fade the platnum, with shorty the pimp
And when I do, Im going straight to the bank
Withdraw some money and buy some dank
You cant relate to my motherfucking homies
Thats why they listen to the one and only
I grew up on the funk called p
But these motherfuckers growing up on me
And if I ego trip, and my head is fucked
I take my ass back, to where I grew up
And get real boy, its never too late
Before I do like you and make a weak ass tape
Im in the trunk...
In the trunk, in, in the trunk
In the trunk, in, in the trunk
In the trunk beating down the block
In the trunk, in, in the trunk
In the trunk, in, in the trunk
In the trunk beating down the block
