P.S.D. - I'm a Thug lyrics

Yeah yeah This is a money-motivated song, man, right? If you're allergic to paper You might not fit in when n***as gon' have do a caper, man Yeah We ain't allergic to paper, man So we gon' try to turn you n***as around, man Yamean? Yeah We gon' try to motivate y'all to get your money Cause we money-motivators [Verse 1: Dubee] The way I feel about this here be so detrimental How a PS n***a click with that Double R kennel 530, I'm dirty, hate to say it Represent turf titans and tight with major players With mo' seasoning, s**ers be sneakin in the circle Urkel n***as soakin every line, still ain't with the verbals Get to hoppin' hurdles like Jesse Owens in the fast Return-type tactics so quick shakin' that past In they entourage b**hes be hazy like the samurais Get the mullah, stay savage and suave Now is that swavage? Well certainly Still I keep it global Multiple skyscraper paper, unknown totals Who we? Who that be? Dubee, ask your peoples I leave Sasquatch footprints and keep it off the heezo Cizzo please, it ain't no need in hawkin' me Please believe, I breathe on greenbacks, yamean? [Chorus 2X] The way I feel about loot Ooh, it ain't no doubt about it I'm a thug [Verse 2: PSD] Say how you do, sir? Well, everything is everything, how 'bout you, brah? Man, I'm tryin to get my paws on some loot, sir If it ain't scratch it ain't sh**, how 'bout you, sir? Yeah that's the truth, brah Say I'm a natural, call me 7-11 Playboy, it's factual, I stay high as the heaven I'm like the castle On the chess boards slide front to backwards Up and down, side to side, boy, we at this Me, Dre and Dubee savages in the ma**es They call my type of people roguish-a** ba*tards I pull a babe in and tell her flip the matress And get the cash quick Now player listen, this ain't no test of your broadcast system Them n***as PSD and them be comin' with 'em It ain't no puzzle how I feel about my scrillas Gotta feed my chil'ens [Chorus] [Verse 3: Mac Dre] At the building, chilling, living anxious Waitin' for this b**h to deliver some funyuns The same routine every day Get dipped then I split in the Chevrolet The four 15's shake the mirror When the EB's quake couldn't sound no clearer Feelin' so cool in my old school Ain't trippin' off a b**h, I need some mo' loot Oh, you ain't know you better check my file I get stupid doo-doo dumb, don't sweat the style Me and my n***as represent the real Don't think we k**? Bet a 100 dollar bill I'ma leave a body, no leads or clues Cutthroat Committee, b**h, we some fools k**as for the scrilla, s**er, can't you tell? The real motherf**ers representin' Vallejo