catch 22

Aint nothin like poppin the brains on a
Corvette With your pet in the passenger seat
Ass at your feet, askin if you can pass her the weed (Faster please)
California masterpiece
Recorded partially in
New York With a blue spark on a purple plant and
I worked your aunt (She loved it) primarily under the circumstance
Dont be mad,
I was bad, she was better, sweaty palms
But I bet her and she told your moms and wrote a letter
Now they comin back to get off of the curb because
I swerved on her (beat it bitch!)
I aint never been shit, thats what my mommy said
Now they callin to check to see if
I took the gun from under my bed
She dont trust me,
I dont trust me, my psychiatrist dont trust me
And I aint called em back,
I hope the cops dont come and bust me
Im feelin lusty and my purple video tape is trusty
But I cant go to sleep with lotion on because
I might get musty
I ride motorcycles and crash em on purpose into a crowd of bystanders so my insurance policy wont be worthless [Chorus]
Now quit that bitch shit, we gon fuck you up mayne
We gon fuck you up mayne, now get the fuck outta
Dodge It aint gon work mayne, we gon fuck you up mayne
We gon fuck you up mayne, dont make me pull the pump out the garage
And posse up mayne, we gon fuck you up mayne
We gon fuck you up mayne, you must be high on that sherm
But you gon learn mayne, we gon fuck you up mayne
We gon fuck you up -
WE GON FU
CK YOU UP! [DJ Quik]
Bridget Bridget
Bridget was a girl that
I knew But shes a dumb hoe, and baldheaded like
DJ Pooh Her saggy body tried to crash the party like
Mobb Deep
With her elephant feet
I got a whole lot to say but it wont come out
Probably because
I got this 38 in my mouth
And Im pissed,
Im bout to nut up, fuck you nigga shut up
Like Mausberg,
Ill leave your chest burnin on the curb
Hennessy to
XO, crashed in the
Lex-o I make the bridge flex til these bitch niggaz let go
And Im upset because
Im all alone
Homies dont play by the rules, fuck em then
Im glad they gone
Pluck em out the flowerpot, flush and make they shower hot
Blister and scour,
Im pistol-whippin with power, make em holla like chicks
Out in L.A. aint nuttin good to talk about
Except dead homies, and how in 82 we had all the money
Thats Freeway
Rick and that
C.I.A. shit 22 years later, its just some ol player hater shit
How many gangs can kill people under the age of 12
Get snitched on and go to jail, for another 22 years
And who gets recognized for pouring out the beer
And how many young blacks drink and smoke to cover they fear
Its fucked up [Chorus] [DJ Quik]
I made my momma a promise that
I would make it home honest
She knew that there were no problems cause she could see right through it
She know Im deeper than half of these niggaz, flyer than most of em
And thats as clear as you can see from off in your coast
And you niggaz dont understand these 16 bars from within
If being dope is an abomination then
I am a sin
Cause Im fly like the wind, and
Im high to the end
My enemies are my used- to-be friends, where do
I begin Its a sesspool of stress, you cowards drink from the well
Got no energy for haters, you suckers cant give me hell
Cause you whack and you stale, and you act like you bail
You talk that shit til you gotta prove shit, get smacked when you fail
In the midst of it all
Im just persistin to ball
While these haters tumble and stumble and bumble and fall
Im the key to cut your meter off,
Ill blow what you worth
And befo anything else on this earth -
YOULL GET
FUCKED UP! [Chorus]