Lyrics:

Now lets get down to business, bitches
Cause it seems like yall just keep on tryin to diss this
Nigga that you know thats been down for years
Ive clowned for years, and yall could never fade my peers
One two three four five six seven nine, ten, Eiht you cant win
Cause all the way around nigga I gets respect
And youse a nigga that cant even get no props in your set
Tragniew Park you say huh

Wanna be rippin, but now its time to do some set trippin
So listen close, cause I dont want yall to miss
That Im bout to break it down for this bitch, check it
Acacia, Poplar Maple Spruce Cedar Elm
West side trees sprayin all the fleas
Thats from the three and four hundred block P-Funk riders
So niggaz watch yo ass at that center divider
Now Aaron Tyler, 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 conversation
And see if we can fix this little situation
But would I fuck you up was what you wondered
Yeah, thats probably why you changed your little pager number
But bitches like you dont grow

You cant even look me in my eye, let alone go toe to toe
And callin me skinny, youse a clown
Ima call you Theo, cause you weigh ninety-two point three pounds
Wack ass actor, movie script killer
Fool dont you know, Quik is still the nigga
Compton psycho, boy you oughta quit
Your records dont hit, and bitches dont jock your shit
You need to stay down you Compton clown

And get off of the nuts of the niggaz with guts
Because Im down with the Trees, Im down with Death Row
Im down with Black Tone, and Im down with the fo
So when we cross paths and I hope thats soon
Ima boot your motherfuckin ass to the moon
You need to quit bangin under false pretense
Cause if dont make dollars, it dont make sense

If it dont make dollars, it dont make sense
So dont kill game, let the pimpin commence
If it dont make dollars, it dont make sense
So dont kill game, let the people, commence
If it dont make dollars, it dont make sense
So dont kill game, let the pimpin commence
If it dont make dollars, it dont make sense
Because you gotta give it up to the crown prince

Now Ima 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 thats my endeavor
So whether or not you understand, that theres only one DJ Q-U-I-K
With no C still you cant be me
Because Im 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 Comptons in the house, and Quik is in the hood
Sippin yak with all my niggaz cause its tooted good
So dont knock it till you try it, cause Eiht he tried to knock it
But hes still walkin round with my nuts in his pocket
So put tha P in it represent and sip that Miller
And for those of yall concerned, this is still Eiht Killa
Let me take a load off my scrotum little pest
If it dont make dollars nigga, you know the rest

If it dont make dollars, it dont make sense
So dont kill game, let the pimpin commence
If it dont make dollars, it dont make sense
So dont kill game, let the people, commence
If it dont make dollars, it dont make sense
So dont kill game, let the pimpin commence
If it dont make dollars, it dont make sense
Because you gotta give it up to the crown prince

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 aint your average
Everyday motherfucker, 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 aint 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 aint in you
Remember that time you was rollin on the West side
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
You was in the shadow of death with two trey-five-sevens
Pointed at your chest whatchu gon do, where was your
Niggaz that kill at you aint got no killers so kill dat
Holdin up your hands and beggin for a pass
You lucky they didnt 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!

If it dont make dollars, it dont make sense
So dont kill game, let the pimpin commence
If it dont make dollars, it dont make sense
Im through playin with your punk ass
If it dont make dollars, it dont make sense
So dont kill game, let the pimpin commence
If it dont make dollars, it dont make sense
Because you gotta give it up to the crown prince

Shouts goes out, to my well known road dog
Whats up Dozun Tru, they dont understand it baby
They cant fade us out here on these Compton streets
Its 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
Yall dont understand, yall cant fade this
Im the first nigga that was Bangin on Wax
Yeah if you remember, nineteen eighty-seven underground tapes
And it dont stop, and it wont stop