Lyrics:
Makin' false accusations, fake boot in yo mug
Niggas trippin on that click'll take yo life and yo drugs
Cause out here ain't no love, just Miller's
Hook:
Rude gyal thing,
Lemme see that,
Pussy pop,
It’s 2:30,
Shoulda left by 2 o clock,
On my journey,
Fell in love with makin Guap,
Drop top range
shit else to offer, Baraka
I'm only 5"5" so I love when they call me Lil' Poppa
I can't get a post, the copper so close
Less evil down here by tha dock
the hoosd like a diplomat
Xzibit used to push a 'llac, now I'm range rovin'
Takin over never sober, bear witness like jehovah
Enemies fall like october
of the best in the city
White Mic, Nathan C, Marvin Upshaw, Short Shane (rest in peace)
Dean Lucas, Dj LooneyTunes, Mark Mirage, and Knucklehead
Who you
outta some of y'all
Today all fucked up ways must fall
Today is up against the wall
Misled in the head fucked by quiet storms and love songs
Noddin'
man
Makin' million everytime I drop a jam
[Ice-T]
Nigga duck, DJ drop the cut, huh
250 niggas throw they sets up
L.A. style, nigga what? (West
Some of ya'll might be affraid of what lurks in the dark
So by the wave of his hand and by the flick of his wrist
Tone brings things to light
the lingo
Shake your body body, move your body body (Body body)
On the dance-floor don't hurt nobody body (Body body)
I'm the one that put the "Range" in
fuck it I love it here I call it my birthplace
Whenever I walk in they makin' the worst face
Surrounded by Fillipinos I think of the worst case
Watch
I'm a bandit
I'm takin' they lamb and I'm makin' a banquet (ayy)
All for the love of the mandem
Know that closed hands never got no plate (no plate)
know it's bread on me if I step in the club
That's why I throw a couple dollars and they showing me love
I brought a couple big spenders that might buy
you Robert Griffin
Cookin' in the kitchen
When this beat drop, I'ma get to trippin'
I want you to stay, baby don't you go away
Aye DJ, loop my shit
toxic
Hate when we be arguin' love
When makin' love, my dick toxic
If you just talkin' and ain't doin' shit, you spit boxin'
Cool, calm, collective in
back pocket
I grab you by your neck,
I pull it out a socket
Range, Range, Range,
Rover, Rover, Rover,
Blow this fuckin' task
Police pull me over
But I
love in these streets
It's just some pain in it
But I was made in it
Yeah, we were raised different
You can't see the trap when you still caged
and that's what I love
Is it's totally unpredictable
Is this the one where you just plug in shit?
Yes
Oh my god
And there's a whole back wall
I got all
prolly fall
All over everybody in the hall that was tryna walk
DJ bumpin he don't need to find a bop he got em all
Aww naw, hell naw, they don't got
of knowledge on the microphone when I speak
Rabbit MC's I love to eat
Shockin' with the rhyme, gettin' sicker with time
I'm comin' way too real and I'm
[Chorus - Cuts by DJ Jorun] - w/ ad libs
"They want to know if he still got it" - Dr. Dre
"Plug my mic back in, let me begin" - Classified
"I'm on the mic,
cancer
Wasn't swayed in the mornin I was blazed the day after
If God had rain overflowin even that couldn't dampen me got the range evergrowin everlast wit
no money in your pocket
On the 'Gram all day, girl, stop it
I'm tryna get you some game, you lame
You bitches love doin' somethin' strange for
Game would say
"Hi!"s name in that manner
Many years went by
Still no legitimate answer
Anyway, I put out a mixtape in 12th grade
Hub City threat, minor
motherfucker!"
Now who give a fuck about who bar is the hardest?
When the DJ's think they bigger stars than the artist
Ridin' around in Ferraris doin' more "A"
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