It's Mac Mall, Baby Capone in the Crestside of the Valley-Jo, hooked up wit
my dogs from the Filthy-Mo!
*(San Quinn)*
An if you don't know about it, then ask yo hoe about it.
Cuz it's goin down nigga!
One time.
Two times.
Verse 1 *(JT Tha Bigga Figga)*
I slap some twinkies on my two-door Camaro
mucho dinero
traded a fuel injected carborator for a hottie 4-barrel
ship kits fo' Cam
break down the grams on the dash
put the 4, 15's wit the Floor Masters hangin out the ass
an we love to smash
back to back in Vett's and Jags
from the west coast California where them ol skools act bad
wit the rest of the fam strikin in hot Vogues an shit
quick to scratch up a playas pocket an keep on poundin this shit.
Verse 2 *(Mac Mall)*
Appear quiet, bust in my grill
young titan wit the toys concealed
big nuts an nerves of steel
got money to make
I'm bout to serve Francis Drake
pullin hundreds an toss the keys to LA
boss ballin in Green Bay
as the hood take brothas
under
we be countin crispy federal notes
cuz I ain't tryin to sell dope
in 2-triple-0
white folks knock my hustle
like I'm the mayor of the City Of Dope
me an my thugs hit the lobbies
looking like we'll smuther everybody
kamakazi bout this money don't try me
my cuddie
my cromies
in this, we the titans to meet
juss a day in the life of the elite
so don't hate me, hate the game
you hate it cuz you workin wit small change
Sucka who's to blame?
Matter fact don't answer that
you'll probably say some square shit an Mackin' Ass gon' have to put you on
your back
you can't touch me
you way to pussy
you besta come wit mo than some choppas to try an rush me
it's Mac Mall, Baby Capone
I hooked Vallejo wit the 'Mo an now we paper chasin outta control!
(Whoo! Whoo!)
Chorus *(JT Tha Bigga Figga)*
By now you know the name (know the name)
done brought ya that "Game Recognize Game" ain't a thang changed
from the Crest 2 Fillmoe (Fillmoe)
we Mobb slow
in 3-C down bitch you know the rules hoe.
Verse 3 *(San Quinn)*
By know them niggas know
don't lose focus tryin to scope us
watch us like the rollas
get in closer wanna blow us
I'm the playa that don't play no games
keepin suckas out my range
you crooked to the game
feel the fire as I flame
every verse aimed at yo brain
the pencils in yo house ain't
you need to watch yo spouse mayne
she all in my mouth mayne
starring at my gold
she creep like a mouse mayne
juss thought I'd let you know
the falsified on dime
real G's kill 'em all
if you Mac'in keep it crackin like my nigga Jamal
if I fall
I bounce back like elastic
on bastards
through the "Total Recall"
on phony stars as we mash in
for hoes, it's hard to get at ya
we down cash advancements so fresh you'll figure fashion
crashin the cars
an dismatling marks
fake niggas wit no heart they get they ass ripped apart
we sharper than a needle, an I bust it wit my people
get leathal if I hit ya wit this sleeper
ain't too hard to reach ya
like a teacher seat ya in a corner like a dunce
cuz ya known as a clone and performer of them stunts
and I'm tired of givin warnings to punks
thinkin cuz we rappin, we about to front
you be the first to see a hearst chump
I know you don't want no funk
I see you niggas shakin
all up, up in this game
but you suckas fakin.
*(San Quinn talking)*
Yeah. I'm doing this for my homie Kareem.
It's ya nigga San Quinn, JT an Mac Ass Mall.
(Fa sho)
Fa all ya'll.
Bouncin in yo trunk it's this Yay Area bump.
Yeah you know what I'm talking about.
For all you niggas and you bitches.
Feel the dope to this realness.
For the 9-8 to the 9-9 to the year 2000.
*(JT talking)*
What, what?
We finna put it down. We put it down.
9-8, 9-9
Uh
9-8, 9-9
The year 2
2-triple-0.
A Figgaro-Messy Marv production.
Late night in the Laboratory.
Whippin it.
Puttin it down as usual.
Campaingin an maintainin.
Oh, it's goin down.
Uh, it's goin down.
Uh, an we out.
An we out.
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