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And expect them not to know what a woman's clitoris is
Of course they're gonna know what intercourse is
By the time they hit fourth grade
They've got
album went six thousand on niggas
In Kansas City alone, we packed the dome with Mike and Liddy alone
In the west side, Lee Jone, Milly Mal, I left you
National Anthem
Hit the gas
All real Patriots, stand up
Hit the gas
It’s time to do our fuckin’ job
Hit the gas
Hit the gas
Hit the gas
For those of you
And expect them not to know what a woman's clitoris is
Of course, they're gonna know what intercourse is
By the time they hit fourth grade
They've got
França no final de 1971, e incluída como a quinta faixa do álbum “Cantigas do Maio”, que estreou em Santiago de Compostela (capital da Galiza) em 10 de
a be, they go

Repeat Chorus

N.O.R.E. wants to see a churning now
All my ladies in the club turn around
Make it hot on fire of blow
Bring it up by doin'
broke em all down and we all got high
And niggas don't be trippin don't be doin no drive-bys
Cause we don't gangbang, don't wear blue or red
We like
Sometimes I listen and revisit them old albums
Often as I can and skim through all them bitches
To make sure I keep up with my competition (haha)
Hogger
work
But all bullsh- aside, I hit a stride
Still Shady inside, hair every bit is dyed
As it used to be when I first introduced y'all to my skittish
my name and a 600 Benz
All about the Benjamins
BBS, I'm up to 30, 000 spins
Publicist told me Spin Magazine want to
Do an interview at Endoscene
all the time that we spent
All the dollars and cents, tryna make it hit
Pray you never forget, pray you never forget
Pray you never forget, pray you
low-low's, girl
(Still) takin' my time to perfect the beat
And I still got love for the streets, it's the D.R.E.
I'm representin' for them gangstas all
That's when they fall cause they met my balls
Right after I played ball
No wash-up, no nothin'. hear what I say y'all?
O.k. y'all. ask aj y'all
I'll turn
Moved in your crib, burnt it out
That's a throwaway home
Let's be clear, I make careers disappear
Quicker than Robot Jones
Man your album should be titled
I just hit a lick, and dipped, out the door with the cash
No getaway driver, no gun and no mask (Heh)
Sly deSilva, the corporate crime killer
Went up
low-low's, girl
(Still) takin' my time to perfect the beat
And I still got love for the streets, it's the D.R.E.
I'm representin' for them gangstas all
order
Filthy hit recorder, wipe or Ricky mixed with Ricky Porter
Butchie Jones mixed with Mr. Combs with the Tookie aura
I'm a muh'fucker, no really I
dividends be the new Benjamins (uh-huh)
Hoes of all complexions, I like cinnamon
Ma$e you got some hoes, well, nigga, send 'em in
What you waiting for? Let
dividends be the new Benjamins (uh-huh)
Hoes of all complexions, I like cinnamon
Ma$e you got some hoes, well, nigga, send 'em in
What you waiting for? Let
the fashion, this shit came from Tom
I came from the mud, this shit took some time
I remix the drank and serve it like he blind
Put dick in your bitch, that lil'
white
I might just break em off, when I come dripped out right
Im talkin shoes by Hirachi, shirts by Versace
Hoes they gone watch me, but they all wanna
("Toto... ! Toto... !"), blowing these terrible germs in his direction ("Come here, Toto... !"), and all of this caused ("Toto... !") by a huge mountain
it, yo let me hit it
Bitches know how I come, I bring the cock wit it

All of the thug piece you know I gotta rock wit it
I ear plane the hoe like I
U-F-F-I-E is heard
Two million plays way before my album's coming out
So when you hear this track, best believe I hit the 5
Givin' props to all my crew, my

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