f/ Virginya Slim
* send corrections to the typist
[Intro - Virginya Slim & Crooked I]
Yeah..
Death Row, baby
(Death Row!)
Heavy hitters
Uh-uh
(Yeah)
(Why am I?)
Crooked I
(Yeah)
(Who are you, though?)
Virginia Slim, baby
(Let 'em know somethin')
That we ain't going nowhere
(Nowhere, niggas)
Second dynasty here
(Yeah)
Play boy
[Crooked I]
Tell me what's all the fuss, one hundred seventy five police
wastin' all of the taxpayer's dollars just to holler at us?
Mad cause the Benzes is hot, the Impalas is plush
Nobody bothered me when I used to hop on the bus
Now the cops follow me, the life of Dominick's rough
They wanna throw a young don in some cuffs
But it's... (still Death Row)
I let 'em know, if they didn't remember
I know, some of you suckas got hidden agendas
But I'm, sick of pretenders
Niggas'd rather stick their dick in a blender
Than to go against the sickest contender
Get your ridiculous click to surrender
My game code is winter when it ends in December
Scoop your chicken and Bend Hurr... tender
You know how young niggas roll
Send ya hoe... to your husband, walking pigeon-toed
The West Coast is ours
Still them other niggas old
Over fifty million sold
[Chorus - Virginya Slim and Crooked I]
It's still Tha Row... ugh
(Baby, we still stackin' money up)
And what we gon' do?
(Lady, we still don't give a fuck)
And how we roll y'all?
(Baby, we still in the club beat)
We represent, what?
(We still represent the streets)
It's still Tha Row
(Baby, we still spendin' star bucks)
And what we throwin' up?
(Sweetheart, we still throw them balls up)
And who we beefin' with?
(We still beefin' with the po-po)
And what they say we is?
(We still ghetto)
It's still Tha Row
[Crooked I]
Some of you gangsta rappers out there poppin' seventy pills
Man, you bangin' on wax cats'll never be real (Marks!)
This ghetto celebrity still do whatever he feel
Look at my billboard, I took a shit on Beverly Hills
That's 'cause it's all about Crooked (Yeah, it's all about green)
Around y'all (We stand tall) As who? (Yao Ming) Y'all mean?
And Crooked keep a heat compartment
I don't speak to rappers that work for the Police Department
Nine milli, I eat your heart with
I seek the target, reach in garments, squeeze diesel vomits
I don't need y'all to start me
Ten million albums sold? Maybe if I look like Paul McCartney
But I'm dark as dark Bacardi, dark as Marcus Garvey
Sparks cigars that start the party... ugh!
And we ain't lettin' suckers in
I got a lovely deal and I own my publishing'
[Chorus]
[Outro 1 - Virginya Slim & Crooked I]
Yeah, Red Bone... Queen, Virginia Slim, Miss Gail Gotti
(This for my gangsters)
Representin'... heavy hitters
Death Row, baby
We done slept too long
(And for my hustlers)
Y'all done had y'all time
Now we back
Ready to keep it gangster
(And for my riders)
Yeah... the real ones
The ride or die ones
Come on..
[Crooked I]
And I heard every single word that you say at your show
But when we at the awards ceremony, they have to go
S.W.A.T. Team stormin' the label, one of 'em's even pointing a A.K. at the door
Another day at Tha Row
They say we only out to split wigs
What about the hospital trips givin' gifts to sick kids?
Oh, I see, you want us ALL doing six bids
It's okay, we still big cars and sick cribs, the Death Row way
No way... Crooked came into this game to lose
I'm anxious, I'ma change the rules
I'm dangerous, I'm a gangster Langston Hughes
I'm a mistress that you can't confuse
I'm from Tha Row, so if I piss it'll make the news
[Chorus]
[Outro 2 - Crooked I]
Yeah... I know you're lovin' that
Turn on your T.V.... open up a newspaper or somethin'
Read all about us... them ghetto cats
Tryin' to shove us out the game, but they can't
There's a ghetto in every city in America
And I'm from the Big West
Second dynasty... Death Row is back!
Yeah!
All you mutts get off our nuts
Chuuuch!
Ah, ha...!
Ha, ha, ha, ha..
