* Intro Ooh, yeah, yeah.
What`s love got to do.
Warren G, rap for me, yeah-eah, yeah, mm mm.
* Verse 1 When G-dog, the hog, come up in the place,
There`s dollar signs in your eyes and a smile in your face.
You wanna live fat, all for my sack.
You got more drag than a low lo-do, cut the act,
`Cause back before `92 and `93,
You didn`t give a damn about Warren G,
But now that I`m slingin` platinum LP`s,
All of a sudden, you on my N.U.T`s.
Ain`t nothin` you can do to make it stop,
`Cause money makes the world go `round and the panties drop.
I ain`t in love though, I don`t need the pressure.
I just wanna dig it like I`m diggin` for treasure.
Some of y`all had a good thing that you couldn`t keep,
Thought you was TLC, you had to creep.
You say you had love, I said you need to quit.
It`s all about the dough, so what`s love got to do with it?
* Chorus What`s love got to do, got to do with it (that`s right)?
What`s love if you don`t respect the game (uh-huh)?
What`s love got to do, got to do with it?
If you lack in this game, it`s a shame, you won`t make it.
* Verse 2 Now, I`m the type of brother that`s down for mines.
Before I made beats, I was down to grind.
Back then, every single homey had my back,
Now they`re peepin` my stack and they`re talkin` bout jack,
But I`m the same brother day in and day out,
And I`m-a stay that way until the day I lay out in a casket.
It`s drastic, `cause homies is plastic.
Break `em off some bread, they want the whole damn basket.
If you`s a true homey, you would wish me well,
Not plot to see a brother fell, jealous as hell.
We used to get the same riches.
Now your trigger-finger got the itches, schemin` on my riches
Which is not a suprise, my eyes peep game,
211`s, 187`s it`s all the same.
It`s all a shame, homies`d jack you for your grip.
Ain`t no love involved, because it`s all about the chips.
* Repeat chorus
* Verse 3 Now for these labels tellin` fables,
Makin` the messed-up deals under the tables.
You think that you smart, but, fool, I`m the smartest.
You can`t make no money if you can`t keep an artist.
Sign the dotted line, put `em on the shelf.
Break `em off some crumbs, keep the rest for yourself.
I know how it goes, treat an artist like you know,
Fly cars, gold, clothes, but no dough.
Since it`s all business, I`m-a handle mine,
Keep track of my stack down to the very last dime,
`Cause in this rap game, it`s all about the buck.
You bend over for the label and you will get bucked,
Like how we run up in the skirt, and then you`re through.
The record label do the same thing to you.
90% business, 10% show.
Ain`t no love in this game, `cause it`s all about the dough.
