DJ Quik - Dollaz + Sense lyrics

Mmm 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 youse a nigga that can't even
Get no props in your 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

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 niggaz comin
And you looked like your bitch ass
Was bout to start runnin
But all I wanted to do
Was kick a little coversation (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, youse a clown
I'ma call you Theo
Cause you weigh ninety-two point three 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 niggaz 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 your motherfuckin ass to the moon
You need to quit bangin under false pretense
Cause if don't make dollars
It don't make sense

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 people, 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

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 niggaz 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-IK
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 youse 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 yak with all my niggaz
Cause it's tooted 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 (beyotch)
So put tha P in it
Represent and sip that Miller

Let me take a load off my scrotum little pest
If it don't make dollers nigga
You know the rest

Now I done sold my fuckin soul
To the shit that I kick
While you groupie ass niggaz 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 hoe
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 your ass
You put yourself in check
And when you left my presence
You left expedient
You ain't no fuckin killer, youse a comedian
Beyotch tell me why you act so scary
Givin your set a bad name
Wit your misspelled name
E-IH 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 niggaz 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, beyotch!

Shouts goes out, to my well known road dog
What's up Dozun Tru
They don't understand it baby
They can't fade us out here
On these Compton streets (beyotch)
It's bigger than they can imagine
To the whole entire Death Row family
Both sides, whassup niggaz
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
Nineteen eighty-seven underground tapes
And it don't stop, and it won't stop