[Intro]
It's on
Where they at? Where they at? Where they at? Where they at?

[Verse]
I sold tapes every day, me and Freddy B
Been famous since 1983
Give me ten dollars, and you straight get blessed
A rap all about you called the special request
Now Oakland, you know I go way back
To Cougnuts, Falcs, 'stangs, and Cadillacs
When homeboys put Vogues on any car
With 6 by 9's smoking burner
Everybody got addicted to my "Dope Fiend Beat"
Whole town got hooked and started smoking D
Every rap I ever made was about this town
I made seven whole albums with no James Brown
And even though I love his music, I just can't stand
The way they used it all up and didn't pay the man
And after three platinum albums, you call me weak
'Cause I don't sell records in the East
Now what's funky? I say panties on an old...
I guess y'all fools don't know
Why some good rappers can't sell no tapes
It's not the company's fault, you sound so fake
You wanna be in the trunk with the boomin' box
While the young girls ride on your jock
You can't do it like this, homie, so give it up
And stop kissing everybody's butt
It's like you smoked a whole damn ki
You rap so fast, you keep leaving the beat
I'm from the old school, I love P-Funk
But now rap music is all that they want
So when I'm in my car, I play Clinton
And when I'm on the stage I start pimpin'
And when I hear your tape, I push eject
Then I throw it out the window with the rejects
And when the hardcore rappers go soft
I like to watch when they all fall off
'Cause ain't nothin' worth kickin' like a sucka MC
And any other rappers ever talk about me
I don't stop rappin', that's all they can say
And how I dog women every day
But if you can't be a dog, then you're weak
You'd be phony like a sideshow freak
Some rappers try to come off positive
Where I'm from that just ain't how it is
They say rap music is here to stay
But the sucka MC's don't think that way
It took eight long years before I got my break
So I wonder why rappers make fake tapes
You won't get paid like I did, so give up, punk
And while you're in the studio, I'm in the trunk
You got no choice, so don't flip that coin
This ain't the military, so you punks can't join
It ain't pop, it's called underground rap
From Oakland, California and it sounds so phat
Them silly raps can't relate to my homies
That's why they listen to the one and only
I used to be broke, but now we all used to be
Got no game for you, boy, 'cause all the game is for me
And these females can't say nothin' to me
They could never could hang with $hort, baby
I'm not a tongue-twisting rapper with a funny style
Don't dress hip-hop and dance real wild
But I do sell records like that
Even though you might think I can't rap
I find the beat and then never switch
Grab the microphone and then call you a...
You want rent money, I got pimp money
One thing's for sure, I won't give it to a...
I lock you up back there in the trunk
And start slammin' that Oakland funk
$hort Dog's in the house once again
Tryna fade the platnum with Shorty the Pimp
And when I do, I'm going straight to the bank
Withdraw some money and buy some dank
The way you rap, you can't relate to my homies
That's why they listen to the one and only
I grew up on the funk called P
But these little kids growing up on me
And if I ego trip, and my head blows up
I have to go back to where I grew up
And get real, boy, it's never too late
Before I do like you and make a weak tape
I'm in the trunk