In the Trunk

It's on
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 Where they at, where they at, where they at
 I sold tapes every day me and Freddy B
 Been famous since 1983
 Give me ten dollars, and you straight get blessed
 A rap all about you called the special request
 Oakland, you know I go way back
 To coug nuts, fall stang's, and cadillac's
 When homeboys put vogues on any car
 With six by nine's smoking burners
 Everybody got addicted to my dopefiend beat
 Whole town fucked around and started smoking D
 Every rap I ever made was about this town
 I made seven whole albums with no James Brown
 And even though I love his music, I just can't stand
 The way they used it all up and didn't pay the man
 And after two platnum albums, you call me weak
 Cause I don't sell records in the East
 Now what's funky, I say pussy on an old hoe
 I guess y'all fools don't know
 Why some good rappers can't sell no tapes
 It's not the company's fault, the shit sounds fake
 You wanna be in the trunk, with the booming box
 While the young bitches ride on your jock
 You can't do it like this homey, so just pass it
 And stop kissing them white folks asses
 It's like you smoked a whole damn key
 You rap so fast you keep leaving the beat
 I'm from the old school, I love P-Funk
 But now rap music is all that they want
 So when I'm in my car, I play Clinton
 And when I'm on the stage I start pimping
 And when I hear your shit, I push eject
 Then I throw it out the window with the rejects
 And when the hard core rappers go soft
 I like to watch when they ass fall off
 Cause ain't nothing worth kicking like a sucker MC
 And any other rappers ever talk about me
 I don't stop rapping, that's all they can say
 And how I dogg bitches, every day
 But if you can't be a dogg, then you're weak
 You be phony like a side show freak
 Some rappers try to come off positive
 Where I'm from that just ain't how it is
 They say rap music is here to stay
 But the sucker MC's don't think that way
 It took eight long years before I got my break
 So I wonder why rapper's make fake ass tapes
 You won't get paid like I did, so give up punk
 And while your in the studio, I'm in the trunk
 You got no choice, so don't flip that coin
 This ain't the military, so you punks can't join
 It ain't pop, it's called underground rap
 From Oakland California and the shit sounds phat
 I'm spitting raps to my motherfucking homies
 That's why they listen to the one and only
 I used to be broke, but now we all used to be
 Got no game for a bitch, all the game is for me
 And these bitches, can't say shit to me
 They could never could fuck with Short baby
 I'm not a tongue twisting rapper with a funny style
 Don't dress hip hop and dance real wild
 But I do sell records like a motherfucker
 Even though you might I'm just another sucker
 I find the beat and then never switch
 Grab the microphone and then call you a bitch
 You want rent money, I got pimp money
 One thing's for sure, I won't give it to a hoe
 I throw a bitch in the god damn trunk
 And start slamming that Oakland funk
 Short Dogg's in the house, once again
 Trying to fade the platnum, with Shorty the Pimp
 And when I do, I'm going straight to the bank
 Withdraw some money and buy some dank
 You can't relate to my motherfucking homies
 That's why they listen to the one and only
 I grew up on the funk called P
 But these motherfuckers growing up on me
 And if I ego trip, and my head is fucked
 I take my ass back, to where I grew up
 And get real boy, it's never too late
 Before I do like you and make a weak ass tape
 I'm in the trunk
 In the trunk, in, in the trunk
 In the trunk, in, in the trunk
 In the trunk beating down the block
 In the trunk, in, in the trunk
 In the trunk, in, in the trunk
 In the trunk beating down the block