E-40, Cousin Fik, Choose Up Cheese - Street Sense lyrics

I got street sense wouldn’t pay
A bitch three cents strapped, yeah
I play defense ‘cause I got street sense
In the hood on some G shit
Where everybody pay cheap rent
Better have street sense, street sense
Street sense, street sense
Street sense, street sense
Out here you ain’t gonna be shit
If you ain’t got street sense

My rubber bands is conceited
My pistol don’t like nobody
My bullets ain’t got no names
Keep a stick but I don’t play hockey
I move with movers and shakers
They’re serious about their paper
They loyal, they not no traitors
They’ll shut you down like a breaker (UH)
Better not get out of line
Check a hoe like a Nike sign
Ghetto pass’ll never decline
Ghetto pass’ll never decline check a
Hoe like a Nike sign
I’d pull a sofa up in the
Middle of Magazine Street and recline
Never drop a dime, never tell, never talk
Do the crime, do the time
That’s the way I was taught
They’ll rob and they’ll kill
You over some dank
Materialistic shit can be replaced
But lives cain’t
I try to talk to the youngsters
Play my position
Give them OG game and wisdom but
None of ‘em wanna listen just a few
And if you gon’ grow up to be an OG too
You gotta know that sucka shit
Contagious like the flu bIATCH!

I got street sense wouldn’t pay
A bitch three cents strapped, yeah
I play defense ‘cause I got street sense
In the hood on some G shit
Where everybody pay cheap rent
Better have street sense, street sense
Street sense, street sense
Street sense, street sense
Out here you ain’t gonna be shit
If you ain’t got street sense

Real got strippers on the bed
They taking naps
Hand on the pack, other hand on the strap
Just to wake up to some money in the trap
And go hop in the box Chevy with the slap, ay
And we don’t slap five, we give dap
I can get you hit with a finger snap
(Like that)
If you ask me favorite out all my hats
I’d probably have to say my thinking cap
Hand is on my lap in case I gotta blast
And I keep at least a half a tank of gas
Cannabis card on me but my grass
Is in a turkey bag finna keep it real
I’d probably cop a new Prius before a Jag
‘Cause, I’m all about the cash, man
Muhfuck some swag
Hoe, I got class, that ain’t got a price tag
Say he looking for a lick ‘cause
He need some bread bad
I’mma fall back, automatic red flag

I got street sense wouldn’t pay
A bitch three cents strapped, yeah
I play defense ‘cause I got street sense
In the hood on some G shit
Where everybody pay cheap rent
Better have street sense, street sense
Street sense, street sense
Street sense, street sense
Out here you ain’t gonna be shit
If you ain’t got street sense

Street sale spots all looking like The Wire
Riding with the hammer even
Though I got priors
Choose Up Cheese on the plug, baby
Shoutout to my buyers
Bitches call me Kevin Gates, nigga
I don’t get tired
In the streets every day wishing
That I had a helmet
I don’t know who I could trust
It seem like everybody selfish
Nigga play me close
I swear to God he getting melted
The homie, he a shooter, he got bodies, man
He careless
Got a old soul, man, my game from the ‘80s
You can’t get three cent
Everything is on the ladies
She went and bought a Beamer
She bought me a Mercedes
All I know is money and I get it on the daily
All I scream is ‘Pay me, ’ cash is the motto
And if you ain’t got it then
A nigga on the throttle
I got too much street sense and
I was laced from the womb
A step ahead of the game
Can’t pull a jack move

I got street sense wouldn’t pay
A bitch three cents strapped, yeah
I play defense ‘cause I got street sense
In the hood on some G shit
Where everybody pay cheap rent
Better have street sense, street sense
Street sense, street sense
Street sense, street sense
Out here you ain’t gonna be shit
If you ain’t got street sense