Pimp C Good & Bad Times Skit

歌詞

You can catch me in the hood smokin' good, posted on the lot Got a pocket full of money 'cause I'm fresh off the block The hood smokin' good, posted on the lot Got a pocket full of money 'cause I'm fresh off the block Yeah we sippin', dippin', tippin', elbow swangin' out the window Swimming pool up in the roof, I got the suede up in the ceiling '88 dope man, not purple rain-rocks, having things, diamond chains Doin' it till my money came South side, west side, east side, north side, On them wires, on the blades Everybody smokin' haze Cadillac, Chevy, Escalade, and them Hummer trucks We burnin' rubber, runnin' lights, we don't give a fuck We on that laffy taffy, y'all niggas be smokin', babby We custom fitted from our sneakers to our clothes daddy We keep them hoes lookin', starin', gawkin', talkin' 'bout us We got them peoples and feds, yea they talk about us About the way we talk, about the way we dress How 'bout them diamond grills? How 'bout they lookin' fresh? I'm always smokin' good, I'm posted on the lot A pocket full of money, I'm fresh up off the block So many brand-new niggas, we don't know who to trust A bunch of pussy-ass rappers tryin' to sound like us Sweet Jones is a pimp I got bitches on track Send a hoe out on a mission, tell 'em break 'em, bring it back Got a house in Hawaii, 'bout to, 'bout to buy a Rolls Nigga think we just 'bout rapping bitch but dope is getting sold I'm a young, hot street flame, deep up in the d-game Smokin' bro, slammin' Cadillac doors, red paint switchin' lane-to-lane I ain't came to lose bitch, I done paid my dues bitch Got fifteen years off in this muthafuckin' rap shit Seen a lot of niggas come, seen a lot of niggas go I seen some niggas blow, I seen some turn to hoes Candy cars, candy doors, I got yellow hoes that play wit' they nose If ya like, she blow in ya butt Eat ya dick and then lick ya nuts If I wasn't rappin' baby, I'd still be drivin' this shit Makin' hoes hide this dick, UGK we live in this bitch Swisha sweets is a must Mixin' purple wit the tux We call it banana split Choose a pimp hoe, I'm the dick I got Bobby 'bout a pound, nigga Whitney 'bout a key DJ Screw about a gallon, bitch the game belong to me In '72, a player born in his boots Every line is the Gospel, 'cause every word is the truth Some may call me the realest, this from the heart you can feel it Project baby 'cause my family from the Car-Swerve Village And moved the north side city wit this downtown witty That influenced, project grew 'n' then now '88 gritty Twelve years old smokin' squares, and by thirteen smokin' water By fourteen I was a busy boy in somebody daughter Rockin' them black Stacy Adams and that fresh gold hat I'm sellin' weed a year later, whoa, here come the crack I'm sellin' 50's and bopper's the cluckers say I got good And wit the crack came the gangs, and that divided the hood And then the war jumped off, some niggas didn't make it a summer The other niggas locked up, doin' rides, receivin' numbers I changed my life wit the quickest, for real and laid down the D I ain't sellin' no mo' but you can still catch me in the hood I'm from the middle of the map where the river run deep Up I-55 where them niggas run D Got a pocket full of stones along wit Bun B, Pimp C Love didn't have it, I could get it from Three Papi didn't have it, I could get it from E Niggas need dank, you can call on me Hell I come through, it don't matter if you on that South side, west side, east side, north side Used to open up my trunk like there it is, Let ya pick which one ya need to get loose I beat that block like bad kids, yea you might wanna call that block abuse Dirty then, made Derrty now, some of y'all might know, but don't blurt it out You know how shit travel, word of mouth, have them kick-in boys all in my house Knockin' down my glass door, tryin' to rip up my marble floor But ain't nothin' that for that ass though you know See that's throwback like Dukey Rope Candy painted, hundred spokes, baking soda, watch it grow Gangsta, gangsta? Neva that, but I keep that thing like 'Where he at?' Ain't no rubber band big enough to hold these stacks I wrap my money in Reynolds Wrap Slangin' everything I get my hands on From the white to the green, to the 1-I phones And I even sold dick to a chick named Simone