Too Much

I'm from the old hood, somethin' like yo' hood

Where **** don't know good or know Suge

But the blow good, so we rock it like Tracy McGrady

Send it to Houston in a gray Mercedes

I'm a product of my environment, grew up in the eighties

So that mean me, Kanyeezy, and young Jeezy all crack babies

And it's evident my flow is heaven sent

First LP on the same shelf as the veterans

****, I can't be fucked, like a lesbian

I'm to hip-hop what cartoon is to Mexicans

I'm a artist, never claimed to be the hardest

Just number one since B-I-G and 'Pac departed

Nate ridin' with me, Snoop ridin' with me

All you other **** used to be good like Ken Griffey

I'm on fire like the tip of a blunt

On fire like a **** that let it drip for a month

I'm a Blood, you can Crip if you want, just let it bump

Like you got Scott Storch tied up in the trunk

I'm the ice cream truck man, guns in the trunk, man

Drugs in the truck, man, call me the frontman

Too much Cris' in the club not to get drunk

Too many bitches in the world not to fuck

Too much chronic in the studio not to roll it up

And too much bass in the trunk, so let it bump

He look like he mad as fuck, but who cares?

Grabbin' her by the arm 'cause she stared

Don't know how much attention you pay

You better be ready to die in this game

I thought I told y'all, I'm done with the beef, clown

My son three now

And I've been watchin' Dre so long, I'm makin' beats now

Game on the rebound, like Ben Wallace in the D-town

I mean Chi-town, fuck it, it can go down

****, I spit the whole round, four plus four pounds

****, this the wild, wild West, call it a showdown

And I'm Billy the Kid till they split my wig

I come back from the dead, tell 'em kill me again

Put my head on the barrel, dare a **** to shoot me

I'm gangsta, took more shots than Tookie

I'm alive, so I'ma take a Patron shot for Tookie

Roll the California blunt and keep watchin' the movie

Inspired by this gang bangin' shit since I was two

I brought the West Coast back, what the fuck you do?

I'm the ice cream truck man, guns in the trunk, man

Drugs in the truck, man, call me the frontman

Too much Cris' in the club not to get drunk

Too many bitches in the world not to fuck

Too much chronic in the studio not to roll it up

And too much bass in the trunk, so let it bump

He look like he mad as fuck, but who cares?

Grabbin' her by the arm 'cause she stared

Don't know how much attention you pay

You better be ready to die in this game

Drive fast, both hands on the dash

Close both of your eyes and hope that you don't crash

It's lyrical homicide, both airbags out

Roll the fuckin' windows down, let the bass out

****, drop the top on whatever you in

(Drop the top, whatever you please)

Bitches, let your ponytail blow in the wind

(Let your weave blow, ooh-ee)

Inhale the chronic, blow out dollar signs

(Meet across the paths, that's chic)

****, you can drive a Bentley, if only in your mind

(I, I, I, I'm high)

Four doors, leather and wood

Ride like I got a horse stable under my hood

And I keep a chrome four-five under my hood

So if I die, ****, bury me under my hood

Who had the hottest bitch in the game, wearin' they chain?

Mr. H-to-the-Izzo, Nas, and Hurricane

Long as my family straight, read this at my wake

I gave 'em the documentary and they scraped the plate

Twenty magazine covers, ****, look at this face

I can not, will not ever be replaced

'Cause I'm the ice cream truck man, guns in the trunk, man

Drugs in the truck, man, call me the frontman

Too much Cris' in the club not to get drunk

Too many bitches in the world not to fuck

Too much chronic in the studio not to roll it up

And too much bass in the trunk, so let it bump

He look like he mad as fuck, but who cares?

Grabbin' her by the arm 'cause she stared

Don't know how much attention you pay

You better be ready to die in this game

He wolfin' a lot of shit, he look scared

You can't find your girl, she right here

I'm not a bad dream, I'm a nightmare

Besides there's way too many hoes in here