[Verse 1]
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 you's a nigga that can't even get no props in yo' 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 niggas 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 niggas comin'
And you looked like yo' bitch-ass was 'bout to start runnin'
But all I wanted to do was kick a little conversation
(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, you's a clown
I'ma call you Theo 'cause you weigh 92.3 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 niggas 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 yo' mothafuckin' ass to the Moon
You need to quit bangin' under false pretense
'Cause if don't make dollars, it don't make sense
[Hook]
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 pimpin' 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
[Verse 2]
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 niggas 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 you's 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' 'Yac with all my niggas 'cause it's to the 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
So put the P in it, represent and sip that Miller
And for those of y'all concerned, this is still Eiht Killa
Let me take a load off my scrotum, little pest
If it don't make dollars, nigga, you know the rest
[Hook]
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 pimpin' 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
[Verse 3]
Now I done sold my fuckin' soul to the shit that I kick
While you groupie-ass niggas 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 ho
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 yo' ass, you put yourself in check
And when you left my presence you left speedin'
You ain't no fuckin' killer, you's a comedian, biatch!
Tell me why you act so scary
Givin' your set a bad name with 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 niggas 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, biatch!
[Hook]
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
I'm through playing wit'cho punk ass
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
[Outro]
Shouts goes out to my well-known road dog
What's up Donzelle Tru?
They don't understand it, baby, they can't fade us out here on these Compton streets (biatch!)
It's bigger than they can imagine
To the whole entire Death Row family
Both sides, whassup, niggas?
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, 1987 underground tapes
And it don't stop, and it won't stop
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 you's a nigga that can't even get no props in yo' 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 niggas 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 niggas comin'
And you looked like yo' bitch-ass was 'bout to start runnin'
But all I wanted to do was kick a little conversation
(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, you's a clown
I'ma call you Theo 'cause you weigh 92.3 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 niggas 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 yo' mothafuckin' ass to the Moon
You need to quit bangin' under false pretense
'Cause if don't make dollars, it don't make sense
[Hook]
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 pimpin' 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
[Verse 2]
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 niggas 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 you's 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' 'Yac with all my niggas 'cause it's to the 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
So put the P in it, represent and sip that Miller
And for those of y'all concerned, this is still Eiht Killa
Let me take a load off my scrotum, little pest
If it don't make dollars, nigga, you know the rest
[Hook]
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 pimpin' 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
[Verse 3]
Now I done sold my fuckin' soul to the shit that I kick
While you groupie-ass niggas 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 ho
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 yo' ass, you put yourself in check
And when you left my presence you left speedin'
You ain't no fuckin' killer, you's a comedian, biatch!
Tell me why you act so scary
Givin' your set a bad name with 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 niggas 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, biatch!
[Hook]
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
I'm through playing wit'cho punk ass
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
[Outro]
Shouts goes out to my well-known road dog
What's up Donzelle Tru?
They don't understand it, baby, they can't fade us out here on these Compton streets (biatch!)
It's bigger than they can imagine
To the whole entire Death Row family
Both sides, whassup, niggas?
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, 1987 underground tapes
And it don't stop, and it won't stop
( DJ Quik )
www.ChordsAZ.com