Featured In
Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Too $hort
Vocals
Erick Sermon
Vocals
Kool-Ace
Vocals
Eric Breed
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Erick Sermon
Songwriter
Stuart Jordan
Songwriter
Todd Shaw
Songwriter
Eric Breed
Songwriter
Brian Fleming
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Shorty B
Producer
Tom Coyne
Mastering Engineer
Taj "Mahal" Tilghman
Engineer
Ant Banks
Mixing Engineer
Too $hort
Mixing Engineer
Catfish
Engineer
Brian Haught
Engineer
Lyrics
[Verse 1]
Woo, uh, ah ahaye, ah, ah ah ah, ah ah
And you don't stop, word is bond, word is bond
[Verse 2]
Now introducing the sound from the ghetto
E Double and Too $hort, what the fuck you thought?
I come with the ruckus, it's my thing when I swing
I'm born to mack, always strapped with the black gat
Who out there?
I swear boy, who wanna get touched?
Roll up, and catch a slug to the chest, so duck
I talk the talk, walk the walk, now ****
500 S drivin' with hand on trigger
Crazy like Stat, check my track record
Everything I touch is gold since 18 years old
So what that mean?
I roll the blunt and puff the indo smoke in it
I trip in a minute
Crazy, hoes be jockin' me 'cause I be rockin' beats
Sew it up like Monopoly, nobody's stoppin' me
Dig it, Funkdafied like Brat, how's that?
I stick and move on tracks
While I smoke a twenty sack
Who said the E can't rock? That's bullshit
Suck my dick and get a big fat lick of my balls
You wanna brawl? Punk, I thought not
You might get beat down and stomped like Sasquatch
Your girl, like Keith Sweat, "I wanna", fuck her
Psych, I already stuck her
I got rhymes to make your whole head swell up
Here's an icepack, homeboy shut the hell up
I rock the mic with Too $hort
Y'all **** know what's happenin'
Everything he touch goes platinum
[Verse 3]
I made a half a million in a week
And every **** on the street got a tape playin' me
You can't believe it? Erick Sermon, rollin' with $hort
Rolled from California all the way to New York
In big Benzes, G hooked it up
Now we trying to squash all this East, West stuff
We spent years in the studio makin' funky tracks
Signed a bunch of **** with some tight ass raps
It's like Father Dom, it's like Keith Murray
Makin' millionaires but it ain't no hurry
'Cause we all in it for the long run
I won't leave the studio until the song's done
And ain't nothin' really hard about gettin' my cash
A big phat house with a million stashed
You other **** got this rap game distorted
Givin' DATs to the label, straight gettin shorted
Claim you're gettin' paid, but I can't tell
You keep rappin' in my ear and got me mad as hell
You talk a good game but I don't believe in you
You smoke a lotta blunts, but I got more weed than you
I guess I'll see you on the charts in the meanwhile
Another face in the crowd bustin' freestyles
Wishin' you could be in the light
Promoters pay me 10 G's just to breathe on the mic
Bitch!
$hort Dogg puttin' it down with the E Double
[Verse 4]
Shh! You remind me of my phat gold chain
Some of y'all are just small change
Three of us with true, true game
Yeah, yeah
Dig this y'all, my Music is dangerous
"Atomic Dog", coming through the smog with $hort Dawg
Ah! Quick with the trig'
"Jack Be Nimble"
I shoot like G Mob at those lookin' through my window
Chik chik pow! How you like me now?
The man in the mirror, it don't get no clearer
$hort Dogg, the E Double, and Breed we roll thick
Like girls in C-A-U with the good Power-U
Ow! Money is the key to fame
So I can live it up with the girls on Soul Train
The impact, major league dough like Dave Justice
Yo Breed, $hort Dog, show em how we bust this
[Verse 5]
Like some true pioneers, don't forget it
Put the money on the table, let's split it
We got enough G's here to make us both happy
Tell the FEDS we ain't runnin' no coke factory
It's $hort Dogg the real pimp of the century
Girls get wet every time somebody mention me
I was known for my mackin' back in '84
I want it all, that's what I keep stackin' for
Have things that a rapper never dreamed of havin'
And I can tell them how to get it just keep rappin'
Life's a battle, can't afford to lose, son
So many ways to get paid, you got to choose one
[Verse 6]
Now some of the ways to get paid
I choose one and I'm out
That street life will keep me tight, I'm talkin 'bout
Gettin' "C.R.E.A.M.", dolla dolla bills y'all
That's on the real, somethin' you can feel y'all
Many claim to have game but you can get that on sale
But ain't nothin' they sellin' to you up at Harvard or Yale
I mean, sprinkle me homie
'Cause I'm 'bout dollars and cents
And if you ain't hollerin' dollars
Well you ain't holler in Flint
I'd rather dip dip dive, so-socialize
Get loot from the Great Lakes, West to Eastside
Or a tramp, trick (Hack), I spit
On your grave if you ain't gettin' paid like this
[Verse 7]
The hours of the ATL paints my name
Spittin' Mr. Macka-Ace, are you still in the game?
See, I gets paid by the movement of the foot
I've been summoned by the counselor, to testify and bless
It's that, big mack, like scripture is a phat Kod-E-J-E?
So hide your hoe from me
Southern ambassador, knockin' at your door
With' a clique that's true, checkin' knowin' all 52
See, all you tricks, best behave
It's that Southern ****, Mack from the "City of the Brave"
I got the platinum call, yes, yes y'all
So pass me to the green and them hoes and we can big ball
Yeah, now we rollin' four deep
Double dosin', relaxin', and maxin' to $hort
And these beats
E Double, $hort Dawg, Cool Ace
In the place, and beyond
We bringin' straight horror
[Verse 8]
Representin' money
Buy you some, ****
Written by: Brian Fleming, Eric Breed, Erick Sermon, Stuart Jordan, Todd Shaw
