Dollaz + Sense * lyrics

Artist  : Dj Quik 
Song : Dollaz + Sense *



 Send "Dollaz + Sense *" Ringtone to your Cell 

 

* also appears on the Murder Was the Case
soundtrack as 'Dollars and
Sense'

Mmm
Now let's get down to
business bitches
Cause it seems like y'all
just keep on tryin to diss this
Nigga that you
know that's been down for years
I've clowned
for years and y'all could never fade my
peers
One two three four five six
seven
Nine ten Eiht you can't win
Cause all
the way around nigga I gets respect
and youse a
nigga that can't even get no props in your
set
?Trag new park? you say huh
Wanna be
rippin, but now it's time to do some set
trippin
So listen close, cause I don't want
y'all to miss
That I'm bout to break it down
for this bitch, check it
Acacia, Poplar Maple
Spruce Cedar Elm
Westside trees sprayin all
the fleas
that's from the three and four
hundred block P-Funk riders
(So niggaz watch
yo' ass at that center divider *gun
blast*)
Now Erik Titer, tell my why you seem
so tame
When I caught you at the airport,
shakin like a crap game
You looked up and you
seen my niggaz comin
And you looked like your
bitch ass was bout to start runnin
But all I
wanted to do was kick a little coversation (yo
whatup)
And see if we can fix this little
situation
But would I fuck you up was what you
wondered
Yeah, that's probably why you changed
your little pager number (punk ass)
But
bitches like you don't grow
You can't even
look me in my eye, let alone go toe to toe
And
callin me skinny, youse a clown
I'ma call you
Theo, cause you weigh ninety-two point three
pounds
Wack ass actor, movie script
killer
Fool don't you know, Quik is still the
nigga
Compton psycho, boy you oughta
quit
Your records don't hit, and bitches don't
jock your shit
You need to stay down you
Compton clown
and get off of the nuts of the
niggaz with guts
Because I'm down with the
Trees, I'm down with Death Row
I'm down with
Black Tone, and I'm down with the fo'
So when
we cross paths and I hope that's soon
I'ma
boot your motherfuckin ass to the moon
You
need to quit bangin under false pretense
Cause
if don't make dollars, it don't make
sense

*chorus*

If it don't make
dollars, it don't make sense
So don't kill
game, let the pimpin commence
If it don't make
dollars, it don't make sense
So don't kill
game, let the people, commence
If it don't
make dollars, it don't make sense
So don't
kill game, let the pimpin commence
If it don't
make dollars, it don't make sense
Because you
gotta give it up to the crown prince

Now
I'ma swing it to the right and, right into the
left hand
Take a deep breath and, cook it like
a chef and
this is dedicated to the C-P-T
No
better yet T-T-P, or the niggaz that look up to
me
I make it my business, to be that true
forever
and whenever I can come clever well
that's my endeavor
so whether or not you
understand, that there's only one DJ
Q-U-I-K
with no C still you can't be
me
Because I'm floatin in my Lex and,
depositin fat checks and
gettin mad sex while
I floss the NSX and
doin what I wanna, and
youse a goner nigga
for thinkin that you can
catch me slippin on a street corner
Remember
Compton's in the house, and Quik is in the
hood
Sippin yak with all my niggaz cause it's
tooted good
So don't knock it til you try it,
cause Eiht he tried to knock it
But he's still
walkin round with my nuts in his pocket
(beyotch)
So put tha P in it represent and sip
that Miller
And for those of y'all concerned,
this is still Eiht Killa *gun blast*
Let me
take a load off my scrotum little pest
If it
don't make dollers nigga, you know the
rest

*chorus*

Now I done sold my
fuckin soul to the shit that I kick
While you
groupie ass niggaz keep on ridin the dick
You
oughta know that DJ Quik ain't your average
everyday motherfucker
(hah) Slick like a snake
cause I stuck ya
Now, I never had my dick
sucked by a man befo'
But you gon be the first
you little trick ass hoe
Then you can tell me
just how it taste
But before I nut I shoot
some piss in your face
you fuckin coward,
tremblin like a nervous wreck
Cause when I
caught your ass, you put yourself in check
And
when you left my presence, you left
expedient
You ain't no fuckin killer, youse a
comedian, beyotch
Tell me why you act so
scary
Givin your set a bad name wit your
misspelled name
E-I-H-T, now should I
continue
Yeah you left out the G cause the G
ain't in you
Remember that time you was rollin
on the Westside
And a little brown bucket
pulled up on your side
Caught at that light in
your Camry in the midst of a
REAL killer, tell
me did you feel a little nervous (hell
yeah)
You was in the shadow of death
With
two trey-five-sevens pointed at your chest,
hmm
Whatchu gon do, where was your niggaz that
kill at
You ain't got no killers so kill
dat
Holdin up your hands and beggin for a
pass
You lucky they didn't just to get to
dumpin on yo' ass
Cause this game you think is
funny is some real shit
So you need to be more
careful who you fuckin wit,
beyotch!

*chorus*
(line 4) I'm through
playin with your punk ass

Shouts goes out,
to my well known road dog
What's up Dozun Tru,
they don't understand it baby
they can't fade
us out here on these Compton streets
(beyotch)
It's bigger than they can
imagine
To the whole entire Death Row
family
Both sides, whassup niggaz
And my
nigga big Suge, known for keepin shit
poppin
To my nigga Big J, my little nigga
Hi-C, little straight G
And that little singin
ass nigga Danny Boy
Y'all don't understand,
y'all can't fade this
I'M the first nigga that
was "Bangin on Wax"
Yeah if you remember,
nineteen eighty-seven underground tapes
And it
don't stop, and it won't stop