| Lyrics | Song | Artist |
|---|
| Double barrel twelve gauge bigger than Chris Wallace. Pissed off, cuz Biggie and Pac just missed all this | |
| Your reign on the top was short like leprechauns. As I crush so-called willies, thugs, and rapper-dons | |
| If you get high I got weed. And if you get drunk I got vodka. And if you want base I got popcorn like Orville Reddenbacher | |
| Rae got it going on pal, call me the rap assassinator. Rhymes rugged and built like Schwarzenegger | |
| My own mama say I'm thugged out. My sh*t be bumpin out the record store as if it was a drug house | |
| I sell ice in the winter, I sell fire in hell. I am a hustler baby, I'll sell water to a well | |
| It's the bow to the wow, creepin and crawlin. Yiggy yes y'allin, Snoop Doggy Dogg'in | |
| I can make an avalanche, and I aint talkin Chevy trucks. Call me 'Georgia lottery', cuz I be talkin mega bucks | |
| | Lyrics | Song | Artist |
|---|
| Homie if I could make '94 today, I'd tell Eazy and Dre to bring back N.W.A. | |
| Now wait, another dose and you might be dead. And I'm a Nike head, I wear chains that excite the feds | |
| Now I'm trollin the dove, sittin on swoll. 27 years old, off on parole, stroll | |
| My skin is thick, cuz I be up in the mix of action if I'm not at home, puffin lye, relaxin | |
| The flow pro poetical, with skills only a vet'll know. Better know where's the wetter flow that's on point like decimals | |
| I'm the inspiration of a whole generation. And unless you got 10 sticky fingers, its straight imitation, a figment of your imagination | |
| My folk gon trap until they come up with another plan. Stack and crumble bread to get theyself off they mama land | |
|
'The' Bands
VH1's 100 Songs ('90s)
Finish the Lyric
