Yeah

Gangsta

Tell me all my children fore I come through is the hood in the buildin'(yes)
You won't believe what I'm dealing this west coast shit, oh what a feelin' (ahhhh)
Niggaz think I'm drug dealin' 'cause I rolled out with no muthafuckin' sealing (none)
Is he worth a hundred million no need to ask Ice Cube how I'm livin' (I'm living loc)
I still got the recipe, South Central L.A. is the pedigree
Don't try to tell me what it better be, I have your ass up in physical therapy
I outlaw like a Cherokee, the industry tried to bury me
But if I die on a mike of a leraby I'm so heavy you bitches couldn't carry me

[Chorus:]
Get money spend money no money, lookin' like a dummy (I really don't give a fuck)
Your money ain't my fucking money got a pocket full of money (c'mon homie throw it up)
Get money spend money no money, lookin' like a dummy (I really don't give a fuck)
Your money ain't my fucking money got a pocket full of money (c'mon homie throw it up)

I don't accept no disrespect only thing I expect is self check
Just grin and bare it, got an ass whooping that your ass don't wanna inherit
Most rappers are parrots, they say what they told to say to get a neck fool of carrots
Got your momma embarrassed, how long before they callin' us terrorists nigga-I'm serious (I)
Keep it gangsta but I keeps a job cause it's, hard to sleep when you steal and rob (and ya)
Got to run cause here comes the blob cause, Uncle Sam is like part of the Mobb
Break your self he'll take your wealth don't get it twisted u a muthafuckin' elf
And Santa Claus will go for self all you got is your balls and your health

[Chorus:]

Niggaz brag about what they got, but we don't own a skyscraper, now that's paypa
One generation from slums, happy for these little crumb...you little bums
We saw you pull up but nigga shut up (Shut up), you always talk about a fuckin' car or truck
You always talkin' 'bout some fuckin' rims on terrior, that kinda shit will keep an ass inferior
I'm tryina eat tomorro, not tryina hear bout the little bitty shit u ball
Saw your little bitty house on cribs, where you fuck your wife and feed your kids (uhuhh)
Nigga be quiet ain't shit private, everything for sail you can buy it
All this self snitchin', all this self tellin' muthafuckas going back to the watermelon

[Chorus: Repeat 3X]

Copyright: Universal Music Publishing Group
Writer(s): EMILE HAYNIE, O'SHEA JACKSON