Ain't no funk, it's funky, it's Doggystyle (Ain't it funky nuff?)

(Death Row-ow, Death Rowwwww)

(Everybody knows I got more bounce than an ounce)









Shucks, stompin in my big blue chucks

More bounce to the ounce while I'm ditchin you clutz

Bump-bump-bump-bump while you're bumpin your sounds

It's the zoo and the Pound we don't fuck around

Relax your mind and let your conscience be free

and get down, stompin grounds is the LBC

I slid up out the game and MC's get wacked

but now I'm back (Oh shit!), so go get your strap

Watch your head, I break wit

wit G's, Muslims, hardheads and dreds

Bounce, rock while rollerskatin

on them 20 inch tyres wit the platinum Daytons

I'm not that BG poppin all that junk

about "I'll fuck you up", he sound like a punk

I been there and done that, no inspiration

All day illustration beat conversation











I keep niggas in the studio, word is bond

Been workin on ya new album for two years strong

and still can't come up with the right song

You know what they say:'Study long, study long'

All aboard the train so come along

cos we keep the glue stuff against the bone

It's alright ain't no room for wrong

Doggyland is the motherland, make yourself at home

I got money loads by the barrels

I even got a few fans that's crazy like DeNiro

I'm international money maker, player hater

shhok up off the sake of spendin dollars and I always holler

at a player though cos players know the real from the fake

You can put that on your toast, your coast and your state

I give you people what you like

What I look like in jail and can't get on the mic











Killin up crews, give em the real street blues

Have em slidin in their eelskins, groovin in their tennis shoes

Of course it don't stop bein a Westside ridah

Wit no tattoo that's how they got the clue

I lay conversation on wax and CD's

BG's and o-riginals, here come the mission

Makin biters ride the Pound for the rest of the season

Doggy DPG ya lil homey, uhh

I represent the LBC-ment

Windows tint, nigga that's the president

I hit you with a tune every blue moon

Collard on your plate so you can stuff it in your face

Nigga say your Grace before you touch your plate

It taste like it's laced but it ain't

This one puff uncut, no doubt

Everybody know I gotta ounce and a half











Shucks

(Oooh ooh ooohhh oooohhhh ooh, oooh oooh oooohhhh ooh)

(Death Rowwww, Death Rowwww)