Too $hort It Don`t Stop Lyrics

It Don`t Stop Lyrics

Funky fresh on the muthafuckin microphone

Bitch



And it don't
stop

To the beat, baby



Oakland, california is in the
house

Bitch



[ verse 1 ]

I tell you, nobody does it
better than too $hort

I got so many raps, I know you can't have more

Cause I grew up on the mic, I spent my whole life

Writin raps, late at
night

And I never would make no fake lp's

Sucker mc's don't make no
g's

They make weak, weak raps, and need to quit

22 songs, and only
3 on hit

Frontin on me like you want some

Better sell a million
records, go platinum

Cause I wouldn't waste my time on a one-rap
rapper

You wanna get with me, you gotta climb that ladder

But you
ain't nothin but a joke

Rappers make money, tell me why are you broke?


We get paid like a muthafucka, and we get

A brand-new house full
of brand-new shit

A brand-new car in my brand-new driveway

I always
keep the top down on the highway

Too $hort, baby, known everywhere

Had a life-long dream to be a player

Way too cold at a younger age

It was everyday, 'just make that pay'

12 years later, still in the
game

And you never talk down on a player's name

Cause I'm (too
$hort, too $hort)



[ verse 2 ]

You see, I'm fresh like always
with funky beats

I say what's up to the brothers on 10th street

It's
goin down in the oakland town

Home of the infamous too $hort sound

So keep your jealous-ass thoughts in your diary

And if you're lookin
for a leader, you can hire me

And if your so-called boss don't pay

The only thing you need to say

Is "i quit, I'm through with
you"

Pack up your raps, and join the dangerous crew

We got mo'
beats than the average joe

And a 24-track studio

So forget what you
heard, and we'll see it's on

Oakland, california can't leave me alone

Cause I'm the most rappin, most rhymin

Sold my drop-top, but I'm still
high-sidin

I'm (too $hort, too $hort)



[ verse 3 ]

Now
that I've established my career

I wanna help some other brothers out
here

Hook em up and let em make some dough

Flip benzes and turn out
shows

Cause oakland got talent, fool

Mc's in elementary school

Not to mention musicians and singers

And shorty b with his magical
fingers

We get funky like skunk weed

Light it up, hit it, and get
keed

This dopefiend beat will get you high

If it don't go gold too
soon, I'll cry

If the bass ain't deep, somethin's wrong

It must not
be a real too $hort song

Cause the first thing I do when I make my tape

Is drop a few kicks from my 808

And when my tapes hit the store, they
sell so quick

You can tell by my big fat royalty check

It's just a
dangerous thing when I'm on the mic

And the local police don't even
like

The way we hit your town, it's so funny

It's all about makin
big money

So before I go, you should remember this

Muthafuck you,
damn shithead bitch

Cause I'm (too $hort, too $hort)