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(- Cold 187'um)
Yeah what's up Kokane
"What's up player"(cold chillin'in this muthafucka)
Yeah we're just go on laid back in the studio, man on this groove
And talk about some muthafuckas, that we don't give a fuck about
(Definetly don't give a fuck about, you know what I'm saying)
On some fly fly funk shit, (you know what I'm saying)
Some shit that niggas bit, "what's up partner ha ha ha-
I'm talkin to you Dre, don't bite my shit
Don't bite the funk that feeds you
Cause I sure the hell don't need ya
Ha ha what's up.
Yeah. now while we're in the studio kickin' it off
(You know what I'm saying)- on the ill tip
You know, I wanna do some old school
You know, I wanna just kick some shit off
And show them muthafuckas I mean buisness -(you know what I'm saying)
So ah when the clock strikes to six
I'mma put them hoes in the mix (hi hi hi hi)
And I'mma do it like this for them (ya know what I'm sayin')

(Cold 187'um)

Lyrics continue below...

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Ahh yeah ahh
1-87 chillin' in my coup dippin'
One thing I can't stand is when fools get the set trippin'
Now I was down with the gang truce
Until I found out you was gettin' ganked by Dr. Suess
Now you can get Compton, Long Beach
South Central, Watts, Carson even Pomona
You can even ran to Timbuktu
But I'mma creep through the fog bitch and I'mma smoke you
Now I'mma take you through you history book
Uh ah let's take a look
Yeah- when I first came to Ruthless I was livin' like hustler
But see you, you was livin' straight like a busta
I used to think you was a troop
'Til I remembered you was in the muthafuckin' Wreckin Cru
And then I looked at an old album cover
It was you chillin' lookin' gay as a muthafucka
I could have took it any kind of way
But see six months later you were NWA
And now it's gangsta gangsta pimpsta pimpsta
But to me you was still wimpsta wimpsta
Yeah you dissed Eazy-E but I'm confused
Cause you're scared as fuck to diss Ice Cube
Yeah now you're all straight smilin'and trucin'
But remember "yo Dre, stick to producin'"
Now you say you ain't gettin' gangked no more
But I know who owns Death Row. really doe
Yo I got a little piece of paper from someone
And not one line on it reads Andre Young
You try to diss my record deal, but I'm still quick
I'm on a mission, and I'm going for the fuckin' gift
So next time your in the place
I'm hollering 1-8-7 with my Glock in your fuckin' face
Cause real niggas don't go out that quick
So it's cool that you bit my shit- bitch
Cause I'm a baller by far and plus a G
And I like my chronic twist with some VSOP
See broke niggas can't buy it cause it costs ends
Shut the fuck up, you're just Dre's broke friend
Snoop Dogg you better get your paper work right
Because if not you'll be all bark with no bite
Yo- see we go kinda back see
But see things got fucked up when your flunkie tried to diss me
You need to go and check your puppy, G
Because who the fuck is he, to jump up and diss me
Cause I'm a nigga with a gang of funk
And I'mma show the muthafucka to keep my name out his mouth
Yo- I never got smoked you muthafucking new jack
You fuckin' around with me you gonna end up on your back
Yo try to diss me to get respect
But you sounded like a muthafuckin Redman reject
I give props when props are due
And my props to you is muthafucka fuck you
You're just a flunkie for the D-R-E
You punk muthafucka, you wannabe G
And you know I always drop the shit proper
You can ask your homies or you can ask the doctor
But he don't get no props neither
I'mma say it on wax and I can say it when I see ya (fool)
Try to kick it like you got stamina
Whoop that ass like Luke did in Atlanta
Oops did you slip, did you trip, did you run
Did he have a gun, did you want some
No I don't think so (ah well)
Here's a bone you can choke
Get your ass with the mafia loc
Yeah fool, so what you wanna throw up
Cause you're broke as a muthafucka
Lookin tore up
But I'm the original 1-87 no one can do it better
So I'm out, and peace to my homie Snoop
Yo I hope you get yours before they do you- yeah
And that's realer then a juice of a duce
See some might not like it but yo it's the truth

(SweetTalk (aka Kokane))

Boop boop be doo- well alright y'all
Yes lordy, ah some say it's like the Peanuts Gang
I took your house off ya Snoopy- well a wrong
Say Dre, my name it's Sweet Talk
Now do you belive in funk after death?
Cause I do, so watch this

It's like dip-dip-a-la we got to make a stack
We can fix your funk when the shits on the flat
Pump pump you up, send you on your way
And I don't belive in celebratin' Dre day
It's like "Hear ye, hear ye! Come one, come all!"
Kokane is servin suckas at the players ball
If you come up the deal
You will get blasted
A tisket, a tasket, we throw your body in the basket
It's a wonderful day in my muthafuckin neighborhood
A wonderful day in my goddamn neighborhood
Now rollin' tip-toe, incognito
Ichin' to serve a fool when my pump says so (Pump Pump)
Is another nigga with the D is plottin
And if you're fuckin with this nigga
You'll be spittin' out buck shots
So no pain no gain
Bakin soda free and they call me Kokane
Now I'mma fuck you up Kurupt
Cause I'mma bust trough your hood like the Schlitz Malt Liquor bull
Cause you gets no propers
Now your throwin' up the Pound
But I'm throwin' up the Black Mafia
Can't stop ya, what you wanna do?
Bring it on Snoop
And your whole fuckin' Puppy Pound crew
It's the nickel-slick nigga from Pomona
Not fake like lacers
But real like 'Tona's
Snoop Dogg you fuckin cold hopped it
Did most of the writing for Dre
And still you get your troops dropped
Now I see nigga's rich
But you was in the county washing master's shoes like a bitch
Now who's been sleepin' in my bed
Eatin' my funk, takin dope styles by the chunk
Cause I'mma funky to the finish
Cause your funk got a gang of B-12 in it


Yeah in case you didn't know
It's Black Mafia Life for life- fool
Above The muthafuckin' Law
UBU- what you wanna do
Black Hole of Watts
To my homies over there an shit
And to my funkinmuffin' Coconut
We clowns and ...yeah

Writer(s): Jerry Buddy Long, Gregory Frenard Hutchison, Michael L. Bell

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