Intro: Ras Kass, 2Pac.
Once again, we take over cash Ras Kass, Dr. Dre and Mack Ha ha ha Makavelli For all my niggas in the hood Niggas with two strikes, that don`t wanna see the third. [Verse One: 2Pac] Just holla my name and witness game official Niggaz is so ashamed they stand stiff like scared bitches While I rem
ain inside a paradox called my block Though gunshots is promised to me, when will I stop? I hit the weed and hope to God I can fly high Witness my enemies die when I ride by, they shouldn'ta tried me I send they bodies to they parents up North With they faces, they wrists and they nuts cut off Fuck
'em all what I scream as I dream in tongues Fuck a trick, get me rich and the bitches'll come Bust my gun, make 'em all scatter Bullets to my nuts only made my balls fatter, eat a dick BEYOTCH! Mercy, never that, you say you comin back? Bring it on, fo' whoever strapped Introduce you to the pleasure
and the pain, you can go so far Just sell me your soul, and live the life.. (of a ghetto star) Chorus: Mack 10 We Ghetto, fabulous Money make the world go round so let's handle this Ghetto, fabulous Broadcastin live from Los Angeles We ghetto, fabulous Money make the world go round so let's handl
e this Ghetto, fabulous Broadcastin live from Los Angeles Verse Two: Dr. Dre You ain't heard of me, you ain't listenin hard enough Started in Compton servin from a ice cream truck Now ten years later whippin a custom Navigator Steppin on your toes playa, stuffin up your alligators I'm ghetto, like
Newport cigarettes, feel me Boom bap and slap that ass silly This is for the full time students slash part time strippers And young niggaz, clockin at least five figures Some of us pro atheletes, some of us rap over fat beats Some of us hustle in the streets Twenty deep in Club Nikki's so you know
we gots to mingle Trickin' (?) off a pocket full of singles, huh And it's all bueno, musical mafia like Frank Sinatra Pop a thirteen shot glock to make you Go See the Doctor Ain't nuttin nice From hood to hood, love livin the lavish life (Chorus) Verse Three: Ras Kass Nigga Stu-B-Doo in the GS, t
hree ooh ooh Playin number two Tekken, zero to sixty in six point seven seconds *tires screech* hangin out the window actin up, chickenheads like "You doin fo' much!" Flexin the Rolex oyster perpetual, thirty-five diamonds across the face, still eatin out foam cups and paper plates We don't call it
playa hatin in the nine-eight, it's P.I. That's pass intereference, automatic first down Want Juice like Tupac, then Obey Your Thirst clown Be in the PJ's in NY, rockin DK Mix EJ with OJ, OK, we say "L.A. niggaz got crazy game like John Elway got a superbowl ring" The homies down for whatever, we st
ack the chedda Swiss bank accounts, and mo' mozzarella fella (Chorus) [Verse 4: Tupac] Talking to my homies that was buried See my enemies wanna see me dead I ain't worried Forgive me Please give me shelter for all my fears Lifted my head from my hands had a palm of tears I see bodies gettin sp
lashed with acid Two shots rang from the plastic glock Wrapped in plastic Bury the bastard Time to notify His family Shit Ain't nothing left to be identified Evacuate the crime scene fast Why? Heard the feds had a warrant for my ass Fly I won't touch down til I see Tijuana Set up shop Sellin them cr
ooked cops marijuana Label me a sick cess (success) I made this switch Retired from the life that never gave me shit With cash that I couldn't spend Countless cars An addict for a wife My life as a Ghetto Star (Chorus) x2 Outro: Ugh! And it don't stop! HAHA, WESTSIDE RIDERS BABY, HAHA! *fade ou
t*

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