Lyrics

It weren't the task f.o.r.c.e On Thursday, I'm writing rhymes Blood for blood without remorse It's white collar crimes Uh,it's hard catchin' these old rhymes See where I park, valet costs a note Baby please read the letter I wrote Check my credit cards, bout X amount Fuck that... guns pat, Maccabeez muthafucka, one more time 1-2-3 down for the count I did that time...I flipped that dime... Watch people in the street, from the bottom climb And indeed I see the need for the bleedin' at Calvary In the club, givin' them girls all they salary Ju hold my gun and the clip You pausе, I fast-forward my life Livin freshy '97, it's time to flip I'm tirеd, I'm tired of living li-ife Claim to be my Earth but you too trife Know you got it going on Obie That's why a bitch be... It weren't the task f.o.r.c.e But socially, they never know what's up Laying in tomato sauce Pop - pop my trunk, and yup, yup, yup If you bout handling bidness, put your hands up She laid out, make her suck this dick Pop my wheel break bread with my click But my worlds too subliminal around me Often it's the audience that clutched the reward Just called to say that it's good to be So many people think this music biz isn't hard Straight gangster fool, big fool up in the yard Dope House Records at the end of my necklace In accordance, with all the laws from the cordless Cause the game is shady, and the streets are watching Cuz I'll stab ya whole flock with one knife All my independent bouncers, that ain't thinking bout stopping I'm tired, I'm tired of living li-ife Cause nobody cares in the end and that's life After us they broke the mold fast Across that damned West Coast