Текст песни Bay Area Playaz - JT The Bigga Figga

Bay Area Playaz

Ay, what’s up, man?
To all my Bay Area muthafuckin' playas, mayne
I wanna send a shout out and just say 'one love' to all y’all, mayne
Keep pimpin' a hoe
Nevertheless, though, it’s that JD muthafucka comin' strictly outta Fillmoe,
mayne
And y’all gon' love me when I drop this new shit
I’m still milking y’all like cereal, nigga, E.N.E.S.E.A.T
Financial status for Seff is looking slim
Should I grab the sack, post up over by the gym?
Every day that I maintain, evil thoughts pollute my brain
Should I grab the mic or should I go and grab the 'caine?
True to the game, so many know of my authority
Straight up out the left, it’s Get Low Playaz less Priority
San Francisco, Cali, FilthyMoe, that is my area
Tryna gain some stripes with the strike and I’ma bury ya
Now I’ve been fuckin' around with these Bay Area players for quite some time
That nigga peepin' the game, about my fetti, and I ain’t getting bigger
In the industry, they’ll remember when I spark
Ant D.O.G. in your deck while you chillin' at the park
Ain’t it wasn’t no lying the way I defined a hustler
A nigga that’s deep on game, Northern Bay ballin' bubbler
Ain’t it a shame how their game stay the same
Along with these real niggas 'cause only them fakers change
Define me as a hustler, mayne, young nigga in the game
Selling better than cocaine, I put that on my family name
Other players did the same
Made some mail, ghetto fame
Wanna plea, who’s to blame? Now they found ain’t nothing changed
Niggas out to flip it quick 'cause ain’t no time just to kick it
If she can’t make them riches, y’all best shake them bitches
Hustle cash, dividends, buy that house you living in
Young Ray Luv, LC and Bay Area player 'til the end, nigga
Well, if you did not know, the Heatman’s gon' wreck shop
Keep on dropping this until I get all my props
From the East O, Killa Cali, where dope fiends will rock you
And leave you shot in the alley, 'cause ain’t no time to play
In the vicinity of the Bay
Area playas and Pizzo smoke nothing but indo stuffed in a green leaf Vega
Comin' out the Bay, we got those players and those player haters, biatch
Night and day, I think about money to make
Pimp shit raps and mac beat breaks
Daytons and Vogues, scandalous hoes
Bitches when they see me getting freaky at shows
Young niggas like myself getting major paid
P.H.'n ass bustas with their scandalous ways
Messy muthafuckas spreading rumors
And them punk police that be lovin' to do ya
I wonder why they wanna shut me down
Jealousy is like a doozy running through my town
You could bet your life that a sucker gon' save her
How can you say you got game and you be hatin' a player?
Straps on top of straps to get your money on
Overcoming obstacles so we could carry on
Game tight when things get hectic
Coming up so fast, so unexpected
In Fillmore, Cali, we maneuver to pursue the top notch status
Which consist of living lavish, it’s some suckers and some savages
The savages is having it, establisihing their paper
From slanging crack to pulling jacks and even major capers
No one’s catching the vapors
Came up in the game and flipped some thangs
And dissed you player haters who can’t maintain but still they claim
They top notch, equivalent to highest?
Yo, Trev the G from the KLP is among the nation’s finest
Delinquents, outta control, going nation
Predicted by radio station but destined to be the shit on compilation
You gots to be about your scrilla, but niggas ain’t never came realer
Than them dank or die killers
And the niggas in the Bay, they feel us
Simp ass pimp on a punk ass bitch
Quick to shelter two hoe shit
Heater light your ass like BIC
Then take your broads 'cause it’s the shit
It’s Delin-Q-U-E-N-T, we’re flossing major
It’s the East Oakland flavor, kicking it with Get Low Playaz
Well, it’s that TRU player Master P
Kickin' it in Fillmoe with that young nigga JT
I’m from the Rich, got the town
Where them niggas smoke weed and get danked out
They gets mad 'cause I’m rich and famous
Riding on Daynas but P’s still a fuckin' gangsta
Cuttin' up ki’s in the kitchen
Counting riches, and fuckin' bitches
Elevate after I meditate, now watch you get blazed
Contemplated 'bout my scrilla so I had to paid
It don’t matter, so get to the spot and I might get wit’cha
Get 'em up from the back, I’m the one with the sack
So take that fuckin' picture
So I can hit ya, millimeter-meter, you know they won’t stop playin'
Mini-Mac 10, you might not wanna take that ride because they ready to lay ya
Because these niggas from the Bay don’t play
We gots to get our paper each and every fuckin' day
See, it’s the nigga with the gat blastin', checking cash in
But right now a nigga flashin'
Thinkin' about them bustas, hoe trusters, infiltrators
Mack killer player haters
See, I got that Glock that go pop when a nigga like blast, nigga
My shit hit like the muthafuckin' Task, nigga
Ask my homie JT
Can you fade me when a nigga like workin' with .380?
Kickin' up the dust but on the daily I bust
Whenever the microphone disperses, we game tight with verses
Rehearse this for factors, dispose of these jackers
These hard times, these actors
Chapters to make me smack the
Checks break necks and run in the 'jects, pack TECs
And cover their bets, no sweats
And rippin' the sets now best
You can get yourself together, whatever
'Cause players in the Bay, we stick together on a muthafuckin' daily
Biatch!