Potna Deuce - Let U Tell It lyrics

(I ain't gotta lie to kick it, or lounge) (Since everywhere I go is trouble-infested) (I ain't gotta lie to kick it, or lounge) (I talks bad, way about a silly tramp b**h) (I ain't gotta lie to kick it, or lounge) (Since everywhere I go is trouble-infested) (I ain't gotta lie to kick it, or lounge) (I talks bad, way about a silly tramp b**h) --] Rube [ VERSE 1: Rube ] Congratulations for your patience, folks Young Rube comin through with the trey gold spokes I need yokes on a b**h I wanna get with I need a old school mob with a shift kit Left, right, head bobbin, mob type of chaos All you punks talkin jeal', tear the sh** way off Cause I ain't with the funny style charades I rather hit 'em doggy while I'm tuggin dookie braids I'm talkin bad muthaf**er with the sick rappin I'm talkin slang from the turf and not the pig latin My pops told me when I was at the AJ Never become a suspect of a date rape If she don't want ya you don't need her You don't buy her clothes, you don't feed her Never would I cross over for applause Never would I save a hoe for the drawers "Can't we all get along" was the question That they shot to the blacks and the Mexicans Answer came back like this, potna, "Eat a dick" sh** is f**ed up and you too blind to see a trick (I got no words for the s**er bu*ts, the tricks, the clowns) (And I ain't trippin, my shoes is tied) (I got no words for the s**er bu*ts, the tricks, the clowns) (Cause muthaf**ers mo' dirty than a sh** stain) (I got no words for the s**er bu*ts, the tricks, the clowns) (And I ain't trippin, my shoes is tied) (I got no words for the s**er bu*ts, the tricks, the clowns) (Cause muthaf**ers mo' dirty than a sh** stain) --] Beesh [ VERSE 2: Beesh ] Crack my cranium, check what's inside I got a whole lot of things on my mind Feelin like a bloodclot I'm stuck in a state, weary of the jack move I couldn't stand the rock, I stay hip to the black groove Playa pimpin sh**tin for the swingers, man House parties bunk, gettin out of hand Young buck strivin for the co*kola 15 and couldn't wait till I was older At that point didn't think about carryin A fat gat, all my potnas, they be buried in And now I'm my twenties and I'm like f** I got the rabbit's foot searchin for the right luck And house parties shut down before they get started A young fool had to go and try to get retarted That's how it goes in the nine-o, I can't deny it I'm out to get mine, pockets never on a diet Black on black and brown on brown Crime in the town, player haters and the co*k hounds ( ? ) old school left in the old days Before the crack, before the AIDS, before the ( ? ) (I gaffle on the baggy when I'm jigga-jigga-limpin) (Funk Slave soldier in the paint gettin heated) (I gaffle on the baggy when I'm jigga-jigga-limpin) (The gut runna k**a, call me beaver hunter) (I gaffle on the baggy when I'm jigga-jigga-limpin) (Funk Slave soldier in the paint gettin heated) (I gaffle on the baggy when I'm jigga-jigga-limpin) (The gut runna k**a, call me beaver hunter) --] Chezski [ VERSE 3: Chezski ] And really when you think about the pain stroke Busy tryina do for me and all my kinfolk I hate it when I'm lookin at my po' father Strugglin to keep his head above the risin water But still he's gotta push in the cold wind Take a look up at his life till it soaks in And promise to myself when I'm holdin fat I'ma break him off a chunk and give some love back Get it 'fore they do is how the game's played I try to follow rules and mama Kool-Aid Then again I'm lookin up for the steep hill My people first, and need a nother refill And brothers on the search for the good job Tired of bein labelled as an old slob But never does he find what he look fo' A lotta jobs for the rich and none for the po' That's why I'm dippin low with a loose screw And when it comes to this it ain't sh** new Real to the say and tell it all straight Never trippin off the fools that wanna raise hate