Dollaz Sense * Lyrics

Dollaz   Sense * lyrics

* also appears on the Murder Was the Case soundtrack as 'Dollars and
Sense'

Mmm
Now let's get down to business bitches
Cause it seems
like y'all just keep on tryin to diss this
Nigga that you know that's been
down for years
I've clowned for years and y'all could never fade my
peers
One two three four five six seven
Nine ten Eiht you can't
win
Cause all the way around nigga I gets respect
and youse a nigga that
can't even get no props in your set
?Trag new park? you say huh
Wanna be
rippin, but now it's time to do some set trippin
So listen close, cause I
don't want y'all to miss
That I'm bout to break it down for this bitch,
check it
Acacia, Poplar Maple Spruce Cedar Elm
Westside trees sprayin all
the fleas
that's from the three and four hundred block P-Funk riders
(So
niggaz watch yo' ass at that center divider *gun blast*)
Now Erik Titer,
tell my why you seem so tame
When I caught you at the airport, shakin like a
crap game
You looked up and you seen my niggaz comin
And you looked like
your bitch ass was bout to start runnin
But all I wanted to do was kick a
little coversation (yo whatup)
And see if we can fix this little
situation
But would I fuck you up was what you wondered
Yeah, that's
probably why you changed your little pager number (punk ass)
But bitches
like you don't grow
You can't even look me in my eye, let alone go toe to
toe
And callin me skinny, youse a clown
I'ma call you Theo, cause you
weigh ninety-two point three pounds
Wack ass actor, movie script
killer
Fool don't you know, Quik is still the nigga
Compton psycho, boy
you oughta quit
Your records don't hit, and bitches don't jock your
shit
You need to stay down you Compton clown
and get off of the nuts of
the niggaz with guts
Because I'm down with the Trees, I'm down with Death
Row
I'm down with Black Tone, and I'm down with the fo'
So when we cross
paths and I hope that's soon
I'ma boot your motherfuckin ass to the
moon
You need to quit bangin under false pretense
Cause if don't make
dollars, it don't make sense

*chorus*

If it don't make dollars,
it don't make sense
So don't kill game, let the pimpin commence
If it
don't make dollars, it don't make sense
So don't kill game, let the people,
commence
If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense
So don't kill
game, let the pimpin commence
If it don't make dollars, it don't make
sense
Because you gotta give it up to the crown prince

Now I'ma swing
it to the right and, right into the left hand
Take a deep breath and, cook it
like a chef and
this is dedicated to the C-P-T
No better yet T-T-P, or the
niggaz that look up to me
I make it my business, to be that true
forever
and whenever I can come clever well that's my endeavor
so whether
or not you understand, that there's only one DJ Q-U-I-K
with no C still you
can't be me
Because I'm floatin in my Lex and, depositin fat checks
and
gettin mad sex while I floss the NSX and
doin what I wanna, and youse
a goner nigga
for thinkin that you can catch me slippin on a street
corner
Remember Compton's in the house, and Quik is in the hood
Sippin
yak with all my niggaz cause it's tooted good
So don't knock it til you try
it, cause Eiht he tried to knock it
But he's still walkin round with my nuts
in his pocket (beyotch)
So put tha P in it represent and sip that
Miller
And for those of y'all concerned, this is still Eiht Killa *gun
blast*
Let me take a load off my scrotum little pest
If it don't make
dollers nigga, you know the rest

*chorus*

Now I done sold my
fuckin soul to the shit that I kick
While you groupie ass niggaz keep on
ridin the dick
You oughta know that DJ Quik ain't your average everyday
motherfucker
(hah) Slick like a snake cause I stuck ya
Now, I never had
my dick sucked by a man befo'
But you gon be the first you little trick ass
hoe
Then you can tell me just how it taste
But before I nut I shoot some
piss in your face
you fuckin coward, tremblin like a nervous wreck
Cause
when I caught your ass, you put yourself in check
And when you left my
presence, you left expedient
You ain't no fuckin killer, youse a comedian,
beyotch
Tell me why you act so scary
Givin your set a bad name wit your
misspelled name
E-I-H-T, now should I continue
Yeah you left out the G
cause the G ain't in you
Remember that time you was rollin on the
Westside
And a little brown bucket pulled up on your side
Caught at that
light in your Camry in the midst of a
REAL killer, tell me did you feel a
little nervous (hell yeah)
You was in the shadow of death
With two
trey-five-sevens pointed at your chest, hmm
Whatchu gon do, where was your
niggaz that kill at
You ain't got no killers so kill dat
Holdin up your
hands and beggin for a pass
You lucky they didn't just to get to dumpin on
yo' ass
Cause this game you think is funny is some real shit
So you need
to be more careful who you fuckin wit, beyotch!

*chorus*
(line 4) I'm
through playin with your punk ass

Shouts goes out, to my well known road
dog
What's up Dozun Tru, they don't understand it baby
they can't fade us
out here on these Compton streets (beyotch)
It's bigger than they can
imagine
To the whole entire Death Row family
Both sides, whassup
niggaz
And my nigga big Suge, known for keepin shit poppin
To my nigga
Big J, my little nigga Hi-C, little straight G
And that little singin ass
nigga Danny Boy
Y'all don't understand, y'all can't fade this
I'M the
first nigga that was "Bangin on Wax"
Yeah if you remember, nineteen
eighty-seven underground tapes
And it don't stop, and it won't stop