(feat. The Fast One)



[Chorus]

Game tight with the shit we pop

One love to real niggaz cause the game don't stop

From the T-R-U to the D-P-Gs

From the Firm to the Wu-Tang Clan for show see

Know me fuck around with the mob for show

Hit these funksters 3 times crazy and get low

Cause everyday everyday fuck all that drama

I hit the Bahamas for shows to get paid



[J.T. The Bigga Figga]

Come on, ease on down, ease on down

This funky tack the Fast One done layed down

Sipping on Crown

Royal, I done found a sick sound

Smooth, but rough enough for the underground

Now whose gone move the crowd like Mike Mike Jordan

But I'm the type that others want to try and be like

I recite and shines right with a cordless mic

I comes tight with more air than a pair of Nike's

I flows constantly sort of like a faucet

Lyrical bully, with a bulldozer you couldn't pull me

Now blow the douja with this type of shit I'm writing

I'm smoking hash ready to clash like the titans

Unforgettable like Natalie's remix of her father song

I keep my vocals strong, high off the cheech and chong

And when ya feel the dome

Funny bone makes me tickle

I comes colder than the north pole to freeze ya like an icecicle



[Chorus]



[The Fast One]

Up early in the morning channel 42 on cable

Pager going off up on my living room table

Shaking dominoes with P the reason to stack some more cheese

California breezing gets hected in drought season

Every time I hit the lab, thinking bout o's

With the D-O double D and the Figga you wouldn't know

Cause the combination is tighter than 4 knots

And you can here the ass cold knocking for 4 blocks

And showstops ain't the thang to do

County checking no disrespecting them boys in blue

And you know I'm for black with green in my pockets

Pass a note to the teller at the bank, so I can shock her

See, every dollar we stacking is to the ceiling

And after love making is for shaking the herbal healin

And catching feelings is a no no

Breaking more bitches and hitting switches in the low low

Bounce and turn, like my homie Makaveli we ain't hard to find

Hit a nigga with a drop trying to flip a dime

And stacking papers is a daily routine

Instead of dope fiends, serving versus teller machines

And catching coke kings slipping at the docks at the bay

Cause the shit dried up so he put g's on layaway

And no mistakes, we lay them down for the stretch

Without a shot and had a fully loaded mac

On our way to the NYC we drop game

With round trip tickets, we kick it on stolen planes

And for the things that we can do for ya'll

One love to 2Pac, Mr. C and Biggie Smalls

And to all the soldiers in the game that we play

From the Bronx to the LBC up to the Bay

Cause everyday everyday fuck all that drama

I hit the Bahamas for shows to get paid



[Chorus]