U Ain`t Fresh

(Verse 1 - DJ Quik)<br>I know you like to do ecstacy, and then forget where you are<br>Be up in a room with a stripper, and your homie Lamar<br>Now that`s a nasty threesome, a straight mis-match<br>Instead of bangin` on the broad, you`d rather open his hatch<br>And start packin`... and get some dookie on your tip<br>Don`t look now, you got a loogie on your lip<br>Next time video tape it, let us all see it<br>This is Sir Herb, I`ll put you on the web - you pervert<br>The number 23 on the beats, `bout to do ya<br>Mister Blake A.K.A. DJ Quik talkin` to ya<br>And I`ll prove I`m proper and yo game is whack with 1 line<br>I`ll never put my name on a track that wasn`t mine<br>This hip-hip shit, is getting stupid again<br>These niggas gun-tottin`, fightin`, gettin` rutless again<br>There`s a message in the Big Book, didn`t you read it?<br>It say if niggas don`t remember the past, they gonn` repeat it<br>So I`m into ???ated<br>That ground heart-stated<br>And we all made it<br>If you want a hit, nigga, call David<br>The first name basis, depends on how the pay is<br>50 under the table do it enough, don`t need a label<br>`Cause I rob from the rich and I... gives to the ?floor?<br>The ground-level ground shovel diggin` up some more<br>So let`s stay focused `cause the chip is the prize<br>Now put your shit in first, nigga, and shift it to rise<br>And like Frank Nitti, ?We 2-degree?<br>And you haters trippin` cause I got the key to the city<br>Not a sissy but the hoes keep callin` us pretty<br>And you mad `cause the bitch got me on her titty<br>Mr. Troutman talk me talkbox, do why diddy!<br>And I`ll tell you to your ear, nigga, you sound shitty<br>I`ll take your hoe up to the room and show her no pity<br>So call me DJ Meow Mix `cause we gets kitty (meow)<br>Scratchin` all the fleas off of these<br>Stayin` high off of trees<br>Top villian, and enjoyin` the breeze<br>And the time I`m spendin` in yo bitch, a supreme blast<br>In the back of my S-500 playin` Dreamcast<br><br>(Chorus)<br>You Ain`t Fresh (7x)<br>You a busta, nigga!<br>You Ain`t Fresh (7x)<br>You a busta, nigga!<br><br>(Verse 2 - Erick Sermon)<br>Yo, yo, I`m into somethin` new, hoppin` through<br>Quicker than the Compton Crew, and Y too<br>Yo, what you wanna do? You ain`t fresh!<br>No contest - we cook like Raekwon the Chef<br>And write for the skills, get set for the kill<br>And prep for the meals, after that we chill<br>The E-R-I-C-K is my name, I spell<br>Bring it back like `92, with clientele<br>And keep shit right, and make sure the sound excite<br>Nigga in affect, like flashlight<br>Quik and I do it `til death<br>In the house `yall, blackin` out like Red & Meth<br>Thick-boned women, in jeans and linen<br>Yeah (whew!), make a nigga wanna go fishin`<br>And when I walk by, girls singin` a song<br>Like E... is like a phemomenon<br>Ugh, al around the world they be bumpin` to E<br>Shuttin` it down, right in your company<br>I blow through like a gust of wind, through doors<br>Tearin` down the roof, rippin` the floors<br>`Cause rap`s no game, I pack heat, ain`t afraid to pull it<br>For what packs, I packs full of bullets<br>Stop when I come through<br>Big, Black, motherfucker fresh for `99<br>You suckas!<br><br>(Chorus)<br>You Ain`t Fresh (7x)<br>You a busta, nigga<br>You Ain`t Fresh (7x)<br>You a busta, nigga<br><br>(Verse 3 - Kam)<br>Kam got get-back<br>So get up off my dick, rat<br>Nigga, that shit whack<br>You want a hit track?<br>Where Quik at?<br>Knick, knack, patty whack<br>I only bone dimes<br>How you tight? You don`t even write your own rhymes<br>It`s been a long time<br>Since you last heard from me<br>Like Bill ass Hillary, "what`s up?"<br>Still love me, pretty young thang?<br>City I`m from bang<br>What`s up, nigga?<br>Real G`s don`t wear titty and tongue rings<br>You`s a fruity-o, you make the most excuses<br>And keep a studio full of ghost producers<br>Young boss heard<br>You was tryin` to floss, nerd<br>Hollerin` "which side is the realest?"<br>Who you steal that from? (Mausberg)<br>The street slang thief is your chief employment<br>You live a life full of grief after brief enjoyment<br>Fake gang bangers, when you see us, tuck all rags<br>Adios, buenos dias, fuck y`all fags!<br><br>(Chorus)<br>You ain`t fresh<br>You ain`t fresh...