Mr. Short Khop - 1999 lyrics

[Intro] 1999 Insomniac It's the end of the world The Ca-vi Uh I got Peeps Game, (P.G, hah) I got Mr Short Chop And my name is Mr. Kane And we gone do this the West Coast way But Peeps Game you 1st upto bat Peep [Verse 1: Peeps Game] Some how this n***a thought Them 8 x 10 inch drums Gonna make me not wanna go home and err, post double own? But I stopped being stupid at 17 Started having reoccurring dreams Of incredible cream I check the scenery Cause all I wanna chat about is greenary How to get {rid of it?} Get a dead right end of it Players it's my game How many other n***as got claim And important if you feeling my frame To wear them sport, ah I'm tring to make that switch to millionare From ghetto rich But I got these n***as who wanna see me fall Up in my mix Ain't nothing sacred You break pumpers Ya hate mongers, hah A pile of sh** is what am stuck up under But I won't fold I hooks it up, grabs hoe's and roll In a LX 4-5-0, while you stroll My game will make a baller feel broke indeed And make M.C abandoned s.h.i.p's in reeds [Chorus] Life is sometimes so f**ed up Uh well am wrong, in 1999 And you'll never know where you'll end up Yeah, in 1999 [Verse 2: Short Chop] I drink a fifth and blame the session Fingertips stained with resin of the doja? n***as caution, haters beg your pardon Probably find me in the cut at {he-ver bo-bon?} With my squadron Hate it cause he came up Ran through and sold the game up And tossed all these so called names up With contacts, to leave you with blacked eyed contracts Ha, you n***as ain't ready for this combat The robbing, cheating Or even take it to the mob Creeping, squad, thieving Come just try But best to prepare when this young gun ride Run duck hide Want round, we can go some Come round we can roll some Still come heated by my lonesome It's real there, left you cowards done deal there n***a, it's raining bullets and i'm still there [Chorus] Life is sometimes so f**ed up Uh, huh, in 1999 And you'll never know where you'll end up In 1999 [Verse 3: Kokane] Uh Who the hell claimed you n***as Out of every spokesmen of these gangster hits Fake rapping blood or crip Now what I'm still about my rotting socket You n***as stay in the house While O.G's pick cotton Not to moan n***a Cause im a crack the whip back I'm gone do this till the D's fall off And the eagle hub caps Battlecat laced me with some dope tracks Now i got the whole entire industry upon my nut sack I went to ghetto {jack'a'lane?} To push rhymes like weight Can't live without my weekly [?] (yeah, yeah) {fire up?} my 600 it's to blow trees and don't care You n***as pockets be like bad news bears Uh, yeah, i'm taking out all rookies So forget oreo's and get your kokane cookies n***a, get your kokane cookies I represent the west coast, now [Chorus] Life is sometimes so f**ed up That's real/wooh, in 1999 And you'll never know where you'll end up (get yo' paper) In 1999