8Ball, MJG - Comin' Up lyrics
[8Ball, MJG - Comin' Up lyrics]
A hot day in August, 1991
Me and MJ walkin', talkin' in the hot sun
OTS was home then, Listen To The Lyrics
Me and MJ made the shit 101 played the shit
Sellin' tapes straight from my
Hand to your hand pump didn't give us none
So we had to take them
Make him respect a nigga
Check the nigga constantly
Busta, where my cheese at?
Before I have to get the gat
Every record store and stereo supply shop
Sellin' me, but I'm not collectin' a salary
What else to do except say
Fuck this whole rap shit
Find a hustle in the streets
And try to flip shit
All in the next nigga hood
Slangin' packs on the bus
People askin' me, "Mane, don't you rap?"
No shame, had to get to A to
B to make the C-H-Double-E-S-E comin' up
1992, stackin' dues, not royalties
Cause we was told they was used for utilities
Not one single dime, not one check
And we was here from
The whole business aspect
A lot of fame came with
Some decent record sales
But at the same time
We was catchin' plenty hell
Cause we could tell that the
Record deal was goin' sour
But over everything we did, he had full power
With no money in my hands, only fans
Stayin' true
Takin' stance helped me to pursue my fans
Pen and paper i kept keepin'
Reefer chiefin' beepers wasn't beepin'
Money we was needin'
Me and 'Ball constantly havin'
Arguments with our manager
Tryin' to damage a
Good career, fool, is amateur
Damn it's a, cryin' shame to take too much
8Ball & MJG broke free for the come up
9: 30 in the morning, me and MJ on the phone
8 o'clock the same day
We was outta here and gone
T-Money and JB set the tickets up
We picked 'em up
Hit the studio, ready to make the megabucks
Seein' kis and Gs
And hangin' with the hustlers
Real niggas with Glocks, eliminatin' bustas
In the process, we made Comin’ Out Hard
That’s when my real nigga J went behind bars
Every day flyin’ state to state
The shit was great eatin’ steak and lobster
Like motherfuckin’ mobsters
Mettin’ women that I’ll probably
Never meet again
Smilin’ faces, on the outside, looking’ in
I’m on the outside, lookin’ in
I coulda been another one take
Mystery that went with history
Just like a trend
Then, I would lose all hope, if I don’t shout
But it’s too many players
In my motherfuckin’ court
Prepare to blow the fuck outta the rap game
Cause we ain’t
Droppin’ vocals soundin’ like the next mane
Watchin’ out for new friends
Hangin’ out with true friends
Splurgin’ with some loose ends
Ridin' in a new Benz
1995, pure dope, uncut, super nuts
Much hard from the start, from the hips
Out the gut
Much skills, I’ma flex on the next tape
Showin' off, ain't no way in hell I’ma fail
While I’m comin' up
Me and MJ walkin', talkin' in the hot sun
OTS was home then, Listen To The Lyrics
Me and MJ made the shit 101 played the shit
Sellin' tapes straight from my
Hand to your hand pump didn't give us none
So we had to take them
Make him respect a nigga
Check the nigga constantly
Busta, where my cheese at?
Before I have to get the gat
Every record store and stereo supply shop
Sellin' me, but I'm not collectin' a salary
What else to do except say
Fuck this whole rap shit
Find a hustle in the streets
And try to flip shit
All in the next nigga hood
Slangin' packs on the bus
People askin' me, "Mane, don't you rap?"
No shame, had to get to A to
B to make the C-H-Double-E-S-E comin' up
1992, stackin' dues, not royalties
Cause we was told they was used for utilities
Not one single dime, not one check
And we was here from
The whole business aspect
A lot of fame came with
Some decent record sales
But at the same time
We was catchin' plenty hell
Cause we could tell that the
Record deal was goin' sour
But over everything we did, he had full power
With no money in my hands, only fans
Stayin' true
Takin' stance helped me to pursue my fans
Pen and paper i kept keepin'
Reefer chiefin' beepers wasn't beepin'
Money we was needin'
Me and 'Ball constantly havin'
Arguments with our manager
Tryin' to damage a
Good career, fool, is amateur
Damn it's a, cryin' shame to take too much
8Ball & MJG broke free for the come up
9: 30 in the morning, me and MJ on the phone
8 o'clock the same day
We was outta here and gone
T-Money and JB set the tickets up
We picked 'em up
Hit the studio, ready to make the megabucks
Seein' kis and Gs
And hangin' with the hustlers
Real niggas with Glocks, eliminatin' bustas
In the process, we made Comin’ Out Hard
That’s when my real nigga J went behind bars
Every day flyin’ state to state
The shit was great eatin’ steak and lobster
Like motherfuckin’ mobsters
Mettin’ women that I’ll probably
Never meet again
Smilin’ faces, on the outside, looking’ in
I’m on the outside, lookin’ in
I coulda been another one take
Mystery that went with history
Just like a trend
Then, I would lose all hope, if I don’t shout
But it’s too many players
In my motherfuckin’ court
Prepare to blow the fuck outta the rap game
Cause we ain’t
Droppin’ vocals soundin’ like the next mane
Watchin’ out for new friends
Hangin’ out with true friends
Splurgin’ with some loose ends
Ridin' in a new Benz
1995, pure dope, uncut, super nuts
Much hard from the start, from the hips
Out the gut
Much skills, I’ma flex on the next tape
Showin' off, ain't no way in hell I’ma fail
While I’m comin' up