Picture me rollin' in that bmdub Headed to the club Fresh out the Tyson fight Beamer all rimmed up Shinin' with the big homie five car caravan Ridin' shotgun put that chronic smoke in the air Me against the world is what I told my foes So it's me against the world til I poke them hos Leanin' out the window Flickin' ashes off the indo Throwin' up westside I see one of my kinfolk Put that blunt closer to my mouth cause only she knows I'm feelin' bad about that nigga we stomped out in the casino But fuck it, it's deathrow The big homie never told me that my next blow would be my fuckin' death blow Tell kadada I'm not ready I ain't even let my momma know I ain't got no kids I'm only twenty four Before I could let the smoke out niggas let twenty go The thirteen that hit the car went through the passenger door
[Chorus: Latoya Williams] Never can say goodbye Never can say goodbye to my friends [x4]
I love it when they call me big poppa I only smoke blunts if they rolled propa Look I got's ta catch the first thing smokin' the cali And hit one of my bitches in the valley Gotta call my nigga Sean Tell him reserve the don Tell him to get the chron and the teflon I think they trippin' off the homie gettin' shot But God bless his soul, Lord knows it wasn't pop or the mafia Kim tell cease get the fuckin' truck We 'bout to hit the Wolersheim district get fucked up Pop bad bottles son twist up the phillies I'm thinkin' bout tiana these niggas is lookin' silly If this was Brooklyn I would ump the nine milli But fuck it we to the truck roll a dutch we outta phillies Hop in the front seat of that dark green suburban Heard another car swervin' Gun shots closed my curtains Biggie
Layin' in this hospital bed with bronchitis I can't talk Walked myself in and all of a sudden I can't walk Iv's in my arm my wife Tomika at my legs Ruthless I mean records we got married on my death bed I can hear Jerry Heller in the hall But I could'nt Cube and Dr. Dre no more at all Through all the bullshit them niggas were my dogs Niggas with attitude spray painted on the walls I'm flatlinin' it's bad timin' Straight outta Compton the king of gangsta raps dyin' 'Cause of death the aids virus Conspiracy I guess the government just hates violence They thought my group influenced the L.A. riots Woulda been here to see my kids grow if I stayed quiet Took twelve years for a real nigga to break silence Easy I had to let 'em know You could catch me cruisin' down the street in my sixty four
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John Lennon wrote "The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill" about Richard Cooke, a hunter he met at the Maharishi's camp in India. Cooke hasn't shot anything since the camp, except with his camera - he became a freelance photographer for National Geographic.