"MEET THE WHOOPS" lyrics
JasonMartin & DJ Quik Lyrics
(feat. Meet The Whoops)
Meet The Whoops bitch!
The dawg
When there's nowhere for me to run
I accepted the fact that my lifestyle is reality
Grew up, I had my mama mad at me
Hanging with the homies, thirteen, smoking weed
And nigga I throw Ps for the camp, R.I.P Mausberg
I was quick to get her back, I played the bitch 'cause my heart hurt
Rappers tryna get stamped, tap in with the Parkers
I'm on the J side, the mainline ain't far, you marks
And it's no competition, pull the blood for any opposition
You can be a known driller and be a fake politician
I can't wait for it, the clock ticking
Can't take my soul, bitch, it's God given
You the type to send 'em out to crash but was not with 'em
He'll be lucky if he make it to the hospital
Same blood in the veins, juice red, Minute Maid
Hitting every direction, it'll ricochet
And I'm just whoopin down memory lane, true to the game
Like the book I used to read as a youth on bunks in Y.A.
Never thought that I'd be booked by the Feds, looking through pages
Fighting the case, icing on cakes, them typical states
Look, they said Chuno the sumo
Rap Liu Kang, kid flame and spit judo
Put me in a two-door, free my dawgs in the cage who off the pruno
R.I.P to my nigga, Du-Rum, look
Uh, like that, nah, like this
At the Crenshaw Mall but it's all on a bitch
Who is that? Nah, don't trip
It's a Westside thang, all my dawgs in this bitch
Digital, silver satin with the Bool-Aid
Digital, Chuck Taylors with the red strings
Digital, grew up taking gang fades
Digital, get ghost when the pigs came
I ain't nothing special, I'm a nigga that rap
J Gang, I put the hood on my back
Check it out, drinking Eightball like it's '91
In the SL Benz that's from '91 (Uh-huh)
Hanging with my friends better known as the homies
My GD, Damu, my S-S, P funky (Suu)
Rapping over Quik beats, I'm way too funky
Panda Ru call a meeting then we all gon huddle
Touch down, hands on, know my squad don't fumble (Nah)
Slapping 4Bent in a 87 Butlass, Meet The Whoops
Ayy, picture me rolling like 2Pac, no biggie
In my bity, we tote fullies, what the fuck is a semi?
I'll put on for the Phillies in my section, it get risky
Short fuse, long sticks, I been praying niggas tempt me
I been teaching niggas lessons since I was an adolescent
Making niggas use they legs, firearms in my possession
I'm from West Nellas, I don't give a fuck what niggas reppin
And it's Deuce to the O, even when a nigga restin
Ayy, Quik, ayy, Prob
So far I've been listening to your album
And I ain't heard nothing you can bick back and smoke a bitty to, you know?
The dawg
When there's nowhere for me to run
I accepted the fact that my lifestyle is reality
Grew up, I had my mama mad at me
Hanging with the homies, thirteen, smoking weed
And nigga I throw Ps for the camp, R.I.P Mausberg
I was quick to get her back, I played the bitch 'cause my heart hurt
Rappers tryna get stamped, tap in with the Parkers
I'm on the J side, the mainline ain't far, you marks
And it's no competition, pull the blood for any opposition
You can be a known driller and be a fake politician
I can't wait for it, the clock ticking
Can't take my soul, bitch, it's God given
You the type to send 'em out to crash but was not with 'em
He'll be lucky if he make it to the hospital
Same blood in the veins, juice red, Minute Maid
Hitting every direction, it'll ricochet
And I'm just whoopin down memory lane, true to the game
Like the book I used to read as a youth on bunks in Y.A.
Never thought that I'd be booked by the Feds, looking through pages
Fighting the case, icing on cakes, them typical states
Look, they said Chuno the sumo
Rap Liu Kang, kid flame and spit judo
Put me in a two-door, free my dawgs in the cage who off the pruno
R.I.P to my nigga, Du-Rum, look
Uh, like that, nah, like this
At the Crenshaw Mall but it's all on a bitch
Who is that? Nah, don't trip
It's a Westside thang, all my dawgs in this bitch
Digital, silver satin with the Bool-Aid
Digital, Chuck Taylors with the red strings
Digital, grew up taking gang fades
Digital, get ghost when the pigs came
I ain't nothing special, I'm a nigga that rap
J Gang, I put the hood on my back
Check it out, drinking Eightball like it's '91
In the SL Benz that's from '91 (Uh-huh)
Hanging with my friends better known as the homies
My GD, Damu, my S-S, P funky (Suu)
Rapping over Quik beats, I'm way too funky
Panda Ru call a meeting then we all gon huddle
Touch down, hands on, know my squad don't fumble (Nah)
Slapping 4Bent in a 87 Butlass, Meet The Whoops
Ayy, picture me rolling like 2Pac, no biggie
In my bity, we tote fullies, what the fuck is a semi?
I'll put on for the Phillies in my section, it get risky
Short fuse, long sticks, I been praying niggas tempt me
I been teaching niggas lessons since I was an adolescent
Making niggas use they legs, firearms in my possession
I'm from West Nellas, I don't give a fuck what niggas reppin
And it's Deuce to the O, even when a nigga restin
Ayy, Quik, ayy, Prob
So far I've been listening to your album
And I ain't heard nothing you can bick back and smoke a bitty to, you know?
