Nigga what's up
What's yo muthafuckin problem?
- Better than sayin jack
They let me go
Yo muthafucka, I don't wanna hear that weak shit
- Nigga what?
Fuck that, I don't wanna hear that weak shit,
you old rat-infested goverment informant cheese-eatin ass son of a bitch!
You better have your vest on cause you 'bout to come up short
[VERSE 1: Richie Rich]
Caught a brother one day gettin out of a cop car
I know there's more to come, but the few that have so far
Talked to police about more than a court date
They're victims of a certain situation I'll illustrate
Day-to-day pigeons poppin all that junk
About the dollars they makin, a half a ki in the trunk
Mobile phone in his lap and ten cars in the shop
Sellin more than coke and side orders of hop
But there's a catch to that, the boy wasn't prepared
He caught a case on a humbug, now he's scared
No more hangin with the fellas drinkin gin and juice
He's in a situation now where he can't be loose
Everybody wears jailies and sleeps on bunks
And it's easy to tell the men from the punks
So the ones who rhyme but run they mouths like bitches
Wants to hit the bullpen, they turn snitches
That's why I don't fuck with these old soft ass niggas,
out here runnin round here like they 187 artists.
Killers don't talk!
And these hoes supposed to be high roller ass niggas?
Ain't that a bitch!
Everytime I look around instead of stickin to the rules of the game,
they let circus asses makin decisions for themselves.
Yeah, it's hard times, Young JED,
but it goes a little somethin like this:
[VERSE 2: Richie Rich]
The game is hard as wood, the macks don't splinter
But yet and still trick-ass niggas wanna enter
And with ballot in hand they rush to vote
To elect themselves into this game of dope
But yo bro, the situation is real
Don't slip in this game on a banana peel
There's a lot of brothers runnin around pluckin collars
Stuck up due to the fact they got dollars
Most of em punks gettin marked by young bitches
Put in the county, and the punks turn snitches
Given a alias, now he's set free
Or offered his job to be an f-e-d
I don't understand how a brother could turn
His cheek on another, homie, when will ya learn?
The talkin to cops makes it ten times worse
But they keep on talkin, verse after verse
Why do brothers wanna hop in this game?
Runnin around, they don't know the main frame
And when they're caught, they get to talkin like Polly
But they don't want a cracker, just bumpin em, snitchin
You know what I mean?
Now it's the high rollers and not the fiends
Take off the Rolex and park all the cars
You just a punk, yeah, you know who you are
Why did you get in the game if you wasn't equipped?
So what you're havin money and your car is whipped?
Keep talkin to police, then you're gonna get ???
Cause you'se a punk in a city of players, you'se a stupid muthafucka
What's up with these old broke, bus ticket-type ass bitches out here, huh?
Always tryin to get with a nigga with some mail..
They need to get a muthafuckin j-o-b..
Quit blowin up these niggas' beepers,
old stankin ass muthafuckin bitches..
Here's somethin I wanna tell all you hoes:
[VERSE 3: Richie Rich]
Man, these hoes in the Town ain't shit
Can't fuck with a nigga unless he's rich
Sportin gold ones, man, tryin to make that mail
Hoe mopin and hopin that you would treat her to nails
Hoe, I can't treat, nah, nah, it's '89
Back in '87 when I was stuck to the grind
Money flowin like a river but hoe, I'm not trickin
My Zapco's hittin so hard, the light's clippin
Girls on the bus stop, all of them coppin a plea
To get with the man who slings d
Whether ridin a 'Stang or a rag top Beamer
The h-o's want to get with who's cleaner
So boys from the O, all of those who make riches
What do we do? Dog bitches
Knockin and sockin is a everyday thing
The turfs and the side show is where the boys hang
Hoe on jock for a brother with a fade
Some zeniths, some vogues and the boy's got it made
As she makes the block with a baby in a stroller
Her only destination: to find a high roller
But hoe get real, run and go get a job
Cause if I ever come to snatch ya, I be ridin a mob
Who is that?
It's me, come on..
Ah-ah, I didn't recognize you in that shit..
Where your Mustang?
Ain't that about a bitch?
These hoes out here think niggas gon' taxi em around on gold ones?
Nah-nah, it's 1990, y'all hoes better ??? to these muthafuckin old schools
Bitch, jump in the bucket..
The door don't open..
Double R, fuck that hoe!
Tell her make like the muthafuckin Duke boys and crawl through the muthafuckin window
(Snitches) (snitches) [fades]
(Bitches) (bitches) [fades]