Lyrics:
Gotta be a savage and get my grits.
Ready for funk nigga, who want drama?
Collecting mail just like 2Pac momma.
Cress sider, romp rider, might of robed
I'm a Bad boy wid it like Shyne with a Y
But I'd rather listen to 2pac
Cause that's my guy
Loyalty makes us trust
But you see the pain when you look
after midnight
So be ready, to get sweaty, speed up or slow down
You want it, get up on it, it's 'bout to go down right now
Bun Beeda, Pimp C, 2Pac
the stash box popped 2 glocks
Peace "All Eyez On Me," 2Pac
Everybody know he a boss he still gotta floss
He on the same bullshit that sent Gotti up north
study me, they bet not fail or it's a drop
These hoes burnt out, 2Pac
Pop out in bandanas, lit like I'm 2Pac
Who hot? That bitch? Think not
I'm wit your
bitches study me, they bet not fail or it's a drop
These hoes burnt out, 2Pac
Pop out in bandanas, lit like I'm 2Pac
Who hot? That bitch? Think not
I'm wit
choppin' up rocks in my rock shop
And label me a drug deala, just anotha hard nigga
Rest in peace to 2Pac and the rest of y'all thug niggas
Playaz
Chrous: The Game
Nigga be easy
Growing up in California believe me
We drive-by, spraying colors for shizzy
Light it up for 2pac and Eazy
Show them
block with two Glocks
Screamin', "Fuck the world" like 2Pac (I just don't give a fuck)
Talkin' that shit behind my back, dirty mackin'
Tellin' your
to smile in the future
Yeah nigga! Ha ha
Let's go nigga, this is what it is
2Pac cut his head bald
Then you wanna cut yo' head bald (You pussy nigga!)
(take money)
Verse One: 2Pac
First off, touch your chick and the clique you claim
Westside when we ride, come equipped with game
You claim to be
might strip to my drawers, when I trip off the liquid
See maybe, I need to get fucked up 'til I hurl
'cause I'm Crazy like 2Pac screaming "Fuck
Boy murdered on wax and killed
Fuck with me and get yo' caps peeled
You know
See, grab your Glocks when you see 2Pac
Call the cops when you see 2Pac,
warfare) Shootouts, real block shit
West coast assassin on some real 2Pac shit
My style's smokin like, after a glock spit
Game get the blood money, fuck
styles how we Our own styles
How we Our own styles our own styles
Don't you love it? 2Pac free shit
That reach the public still I
Believe my speech so
Conjunction junction, what's my function?
I'm workin' up tracks to
Tap niggas that function
It's not 2Pac or that nigga Dr dre
It's the motherfucking
afford
I got them paranoid shaking in there sneakers
While they plotting on my riches
Trying to do me in with
Some dirty game bitches
2Pac to Kas, KPrince
que 2PAC [en cainri]
N**** ton équipe la street c'est la street, je vais péter le milli
Le rap c'est comme de la trap je vais peut être partir
When I rhyme, I put rappers on da spot
Recording in da same studio, 2Pac got shot
Bringing to da game new ideas
I cop more respect than u, I aint dropped
Yes, sir this is Ludacris
In a recite to you an original poem
Written by my man 2Pac Shakur
Entitled in the depths of solitude
And it goes with
featuring Master P Silkk the Shocker
(Master P)
Like 2Pac said only God can judge me
But I think only black Jesus can help me
heard that shit 2pac wannabe ass nigga (mocking P) "I ain't no rapper
I write short films"
o.k. grab your popcorn ain't no more sunshine.
Come on, O.K.,
banged on
Here come them outta town niggaz, what up Blood?
(What up 'cause? They don't even know what 2Pac first album was)
Should I tell 'em Blood?
on)
And I pray you feel the same way as that 2Pac song
We ain't your hoes or your bitches, trophies, or meant for pimpin'
Recognize a gift from God
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