Pet Semetery

(Man, Quik what they talkin 'bout?)

Man, they talkin 'bout R&B music and gangsta rap is dead

(WHAT?! Damn...)

Ay, we need to go bury both of them muh'fuckers in the pet semetery

(Take 'em to Compton and Watts, then)

I hit the liquor depot, on Crenshaw

where all the working class Gs' go

Around the corner from Greg house, on the next block

Knockin somethin down cause South Central got the best cot

And the flyest bitches live in ran-down spots

That's why them niggaz be Piruin and Crippin

Tryin to protect that ghetto pussy they hittin

And you know what you gon' get when you buy you a Quik beat

And you know what's gon' happen when yo' bitches and Quik meet

And I know that she gon' kiss and tell

She can't keep it quiet, can't help it when the dick is swell

Have to admit it, it was good, she just gotta laugh

Like a parent, I put a whoopin on her bottom half

I'm a playa from the Himalayas

Niggaz don't agree, then them niggaz haters

I'm just tryin to be the R&B savior with the instrumentals

Or go down like JFK in the Continental

The most underrated, so motherfuckin hate it

Anything I do for music's never celebrated

Y'all killin the game like pesticide

...But DJ Quik is unpasteurized

My music is flawless, my lyrics is lawless

Your hood wouldn't be eating, I'm the reason for all this

Y'all tryin to say I got my jaw broke in Compton

What kind of fake gangsta movies y'all be watchin?

That's some cowboy shit, this some now boy shit

With them rounds at your car, that's as loud as it's gon' get

Handle my lightweight, get 'em embalmed in the crates

So don't FUCK with the great, you're much safer on skates

...A thin ice with lead plates

I'm bout to reboot, g'on and recruit

Come thru and shoot, make 'em scatter like SHOO!

So all that don't like me, you can suck a dick or somethin

Turn over on your stomach. take a dildo 'til you vomit

I know you niggaz crampin, I know the real you

You keep fuckin with me, and I'm gon' kill you

Now what they wanna go cancel Arsenio Hall for?

Now he got no place to kick it, that's uncalled for

I'm a bad motherfucker cause my glock says so

But my wallet says Gucci, I'm a fly killa yo

Jewels on yo' ass, pullin tools on yo' ass

Recite a scripture 'fore I put these B-B-BURRS in yo' ass

I'ma just let it, collect it with a bag

Put that in perspective, it's about a half O-Z of the OG

Gettin low key, rollin' more trees

in a hatchback chillin like it's '79

My lyrics so wicked, nigga, go and rewind

So, one more time, I'm from the world's most dangerous city

Back on the scene with no cracks on my screen (yep)

I'm like an addict gettin back on that thing

If R&B is dead - nigga, rest in peace

But I'm still gon' write the shit that makes the stress release

Preach