Lyrics
What’s up, B?
Aw, it ain’t shit; muthafuckin' sufferin', still takin' Bufferin
What’s up wit' you, mayne?
Man, I’m tryna get a hold of some of that shit, man
When it’s gon' be cool?
Well, it’s like this, dude, I’m finna get at potna, right
Right
And uh, soon as I touch down on something, man, I’ll give you a call
Alright, man, you get back, give me a jingle or something, man
Alright
Alright
It takes three tanks from here to Burbank
So let me get to dank and gas up, and put the cash up
Call a Mexican and let him know I’m on my way
Meet me 60 miles north of L. A
By the Grapevine, bring about nine or 10, mate
Straight Peruvian plates
So I can shake on and put the bake on a muthafucka
Take on and put the make on the muthafucka
Penitentiary chance, yeah, I know that’s true
But on the first, my muthafuckin' rent is due
And my landlord ain’t cuttin' back—nigga, fuck some slack
‘Bout a second, shit, he’s at that
And I feel like puttin' my 9 in his nose
I’m hard on the grind and his punk ass knows
That I be stressin', reachin' for my Smith and Wesson
About to teach his punk ass a little lesson
About fuckin' with a Black
Always on my back to scratch, but nigga, you could suck gat
‘Cause I’ve been tryin', damn near dyin' when I’m tearing shit up
Tryin' to get a buck
Shit, tryna get this ol' shit—yo, what up, mayne
You know what I’m sayin'
I know I got a financial disorder
But now I’m tryna like get this ol' shit together, mayne
If I can’t get stack now, I’ll never stack
Gotta keep my revenues up to par
And you got to know, 40 Water’s in the house
And I got my boy B-Legit with me
And he’s on this muthafuckin' Savage tip
Check game
By 12 A.M., I’m out the thighs
It’s time to take a ride down South I-5
And the dank got a nigga on paranoid
One false move and I could be destroyed
So I avoids and use a decoy
You see, my muthafuckin' driver, he’s a white boy
Six deep in the duty, B-dub packin' fully
M-11 mag with three comrades
Poppin', doin' 60, using cruise control
You gotta «Outsmart the Po-Po's»
You know what I mean, ‘cause it’s a daily routine
Arrived at the spot about 5:19
I walks inside, I test both sides
If everything’s tight, we’ll be back by night
Counted up the cash, loaded up the truck, and niggas got the fuck
Tryin' to get a fuck
Dead right, game tight
Can’t be slippin' in this vicious ass gidname, junior
Your whole program’ll be ruined
That’s why you gotta like stick to the symptoms of the situation
Lettin' out frustration like a muthafucka
Tryna get over on these sneaky ass devils
Can’t be riding no old raggedy ass go-cart, though, you know
You know that little saying, though, man
You gotta outsmart them muthafuckin' Panopo’s, you know
The trip back, niggas tac, and some tired
Truck smokin' like a muthafuckin' forest fire
And the only thing on my mind is the grind
And I gotta get paid off all nine
Called E and let him know that it’s cool now
But not a word ‘til a muthafucka touch down
Call baby, and maybe let her know, right
That snow white and her friends’ll be spending the night
Game tight, but stuck at a standstill
I’ll call you back when a nigga get to Danville
Dropped my phone, down a flask, then I heard a blast
Got my gat off the floor and we at po
Straight tore ‘cause a nigga didn’t recognize
We was getting trailed by a bird in the sky
Hit the door and we was eastbound
About a hundred miles from the muthafuckin' V-town
Hittin' fences in the hood like they was mine
First went the ‘gnac, and then with the 9
It took time but them muthafuckas caught up
And now I’m stuck like Chuck, for tryin' to get a buck