What it do, young n****s? What it do, young b****es? I got my drink in my cup, I got my Backwood, no swishers And b****, I'm faded, f***ing faded, yeah, I'm famous What? I'm famous, f***ing famous, n**** I made it! When I was broke, I got me that nine With my nine, I hit me that lick And then with that lick, it came with that yola With that yola, it came with your b**** And see now your b****, she gon' work on that corner I don't care if that ho got pneumonia Give me racks and you won't get a quarter She don't run game, I'm the only controller So what's up now? Straight pimpin' over here Now put that s*** on verse, n**** I be checking a** all on the curb, n**** You could tell that she f***ing with a Figg n**** What it is, n****? Perrier Jouet Rosé, I might relocate Out of my mind, this world, I'm hot, gotdammit, I'm fly (Yay yay) My grandma showed me my first strap My n**** Rat-Tone always had the fliest gats, I finally got mine dirt nap Real n****s don't die homeboy, we multiply S***, come around my town you clown, that's suicide
My momma said don't be that, that little n**** that sold crack Gangbanger that street jack, always trying to figure where the beef at Knock, knock-knock your brain on the doormat B**** n****, what you call that? We on block patrol, n**** f*** your roll, got the gat on me N**** look, it's right here Bulldog bark, you could die right here Real gangsta n****s have no fear Real n****s never tattoo their tears Hopping out of vans, deserting your plans All hoodied up, no Wu-Tang Clan Three days lettin' off through that Aryan Call that b**** 3 for 10 I'm f***ing up the streets again Tags on the toes all amongst your friends Let the barrel spin, get blended in Embrace the funk, groovy as I'm running through your system Seem like you only target Hindu victim Red dot, chicken pox type symptoms Sad day, had his all whole sickened Trying to state the facts We don't care if he election black, we got a strap Gangsta s***, shooting me if I'm broke or rich I got a b**** Ain't sober, kush odor, kush soda's, crip stoner Real soldier head, off with your shoulders, make over
The Four Tops' "I Can't Help Myself (Sugar Pie Honey Bunch)" was written by the Motown team of Lamont Dozier, Brian Holland and Eddie Holland. The phrase "Sugar pie, honey bunch" was something Dozier's grandfather used to say when he was a kid.