In the Trunk

It's on

Where they at, where they at, where they at?

I sold tapes every day, me and Freddy B

Been famous since 1983

Give me ten dollars and you straight get blessed

A rap all about called The Special Request

Oakland, you know I go way back

To Cougnuts, fast 'Stangs, and Cadillacs

When homeboys put Vogues on any car

With six by nines smokin' burners

Everybody got addicted to my dope fiend beat

Whole town fucked around and started smokin' D

Every rap I ever made was about this town

I made seven whole albums with no James Brown

And even though I love his music, I just can't stand

The way they used it all up and didn't pay the man

And after two platinum albums, you call me weak

'Cause I don't sell records in the East

Now what's funky, I say pussy on an old hoe

I guess y'all fools don't know

Why some good rappers can't sell no tapes

It's not the company's fault, the shit sounds fake

You wanna be in the trunk with the boomin' box

While the young bitches ride on your jock

You can't do it like this, homie, so just pass it

And stop kissin' those

It's like you smoked a whole damn key

You rap so fast, you keep leavin' the beat

I'm from the old school, I love P-Funk

But now rap music is all they want

So when I'm in my car, I play Clinton

And when I'm on the stage, I start pimpin'

And when I hear your shit, I push eject

Then I throw it out the window with the rejects

And when the hardcore rappers go soft

I like to watch when they ass fall off

'Cause ain't nothing worth kickin' like a sucker MC

And any other rappers ever talk about me

I don't stop rappin', that's all I can say

And how I dog bitches everyday

But if you can't be a dogg, then you're weak

You be phony like a sideshow freak

Some rappers try to come off positive

Where I'm from, that just ain't how it is

They say rap music is here to stay

But the sucker MCs don't think that way

It took eight long years before I got my break

So I wonder why rappers make fake-ass tapes

You won't get paid like I did, so give up punk

And while you're in the studio, I'm in the trunk

You got no choice, so don't flip that coin

This ain't the military,  you punks can't join

It ain't pop, it's called underground rap

From Oakland, California and the shit sounds phat

I'm spittin' raps to my motherfucking homies

That's why they listen to the one and only

I used to be broke, but now we all used to be

Got no game for a bitch, all the game is for me

And these bitches can't say shit to me

They never could fuck with $hort, baby

I'm not a tongue-twistin' rapper with a funny style

Don't dress hip hop and dance real wild

But I do sell records like a motherfucker

Even though you must think I'm just another sucker

I find a beat and then never switch

Grab the microphone and then call you a bitch

You want rent money, I got pimp money

One thing's for sure, I won't give it to a ho

I throw a bitch in the goddamn trunk

And start slammin' that Oakland funk

$hort Dogg's in the house once again

Tryin' to fade to platinum with Shorty the Pimp

And when I do, I'm goin' straight to the bank

Withdraw some money and buy some dank

You can't relate to my motherfucking homies

That's why they listen to the one and only

I grew up on the funk called P

But these motherfuckers growin' up on me

But if I ego trip and my head is fucked

I take my ass back to where I grew up

And get real boy, it's never too late

Before I do like you and make a weak ass tape

I'm in the trunk