DJ Quik, Problem - European Vacation lyrics

We're so official can we get with you?
Pussy so bomb like a missile (BOOM)
Last nigga hit you
He was so gone that he still needs a tissue
Is this an issue?
I’m on the block, taking your spot
Niggas been itching to drop
Too many bitches to pop money to get
I am the, I am the shit

Up in a shiny Range Rover (ALRIGHT)
With a spinnin’ hangover (ALRIGHT)
Last night I had three bad
Mamis on molly underneath me
I got up and broke this thang open
(woop, woop, woop, woop)
‘Cause they respects a G (THEY DO)
And after that, they erects the D (THEY DO)
She my bat catcher…and I’m tryna pitch
The whole nine innings, I ain’t tryna switch
‘Cause it’s the Eastside
Northside, Westside, homicide
Dancefloors burn like you went and got a perm
My music get you high enough
To run from Big Worm
Dancefloors burn like you went and got a perm
But before I give you music you can’t use
I’d rather walk in fire but without my shoes
Ha i ain’t a punk, I just love perfection
Simon Cowell on the guns, bullets
Go in one direction, uh
I slap the shit out of a bitch ass nigga
Running your mouth and immediately mad nigga
You wrinkled up, kinda sore
With a cheap suit color of manure…GET ON
I’m on some shit right now
I’m ‘bout to stick my dick up
In your bitch right now you come to Compton
You could smoke with DJ Quik right now
I’m on Rosecrans
Headed back from the city to the studio
With keys to let the hoes in
But when they mob in, yo
They awfully overdressed
What the hell you do in those pants?
(Those pants…THOSE PANTS)
Let the background sing, background sing
While I’m in the background
Doing background things
Back it up, make it do the back down thing
I’mma touch that middle, make ‘em all sizzle
Ha is that confetti in the ceiling?
(Why, yes it is)
Well, make it all fall down on these chil’ren
(Let’s go)
That’s your champagne, that’s my blunt
(What?) so we gon’ take ‘em to the
Bottom ‘til the sun’s up

Man, nigga
What’s crackin’? Where the bitches
At right now? Where the ay, pour me hand
Me that bottle over there, shit
Man, Problem, nigga, share that
Blunt over here, shit
I’m tryna get it cra-ckin’ right now, nigga
On the Westside

Perception is reality
My mentality and principalities be
Having me like
I wonder how Jay feel watching
Dame on reality TV
Jay got the girl, Dame got the attention
The irony in this I’d like to mention
Is they both got what they want
These niggas bite they tongue
To kick it, well, i won’t
Shit, I am a product of my environment
My Compton inspirers got me firing, like
My workers ain’t came to they job on time
A gang of times, the stars and my gang align
My vibe is on, my women all fly and shit
They high as shit
It’s like they like to fly and shit
The flyest shit is usually what
You find me in i fuck, you gone
I’m not the type to fly you in
Shit, we ‘bout to throw a party, if you fly
You in then we gon’ party ‘til
The si-si-si-si-sirens come
I got a molly, baby
You should tr-tr-tr-tr-try you one
I bet it puh-puh-puh-puh-pop like
A firing gun (POW)

‘Bout to run the summer and
The whole fall like oops
‘Cause when I step up in the club, baby
All these hoes get loose
‘Bout to run the summer and
The whole fall like oops
Get up, me and Mr quik whip the shit up
Fuck with us, have your whole hood lit up
Still, rap niggas with money
It ain’t a lot a
‘Cause you niggas suck, Afrika Bambaataa
Man, you niggas don’t want no
Problem with the Chacho
Just double-dipped, RIP lil Bosko
Westside's a fuckin’ Number 9 with a waffle
Diamond Lane, yeah, the D rose, Chicago
Bull-shit, I hope your girl with that
Sound like a brought the Quik
With the curl on back
Check how he got the shit bangin’
’92 bandannas, extra clip hangin’
But instead of puttin’ holes in niggas
We trying to teach niggas how to get hoes
And how to get dough, and how to get mo’
This gon’ make ‘em pull their riders out
This gon’ make ‘em pull them riders back OUT!
I’mma make ‘em pull their riders out (WHAT?)
I’mma make ‘em pull them riders back OUT!
Make ‘em pull them back OUT!
We gon’ make ‘em pull them riders OUT!