[Paris]

Still in this bitch, ninety-eight is just another year

I murder money drama bitches, that fall in piers

Comin out the city where no pity be a way of life

When niggaz quick to bust a cap in you to earn they stripes

Ain't nothin changed in these West coast killin fields

I seen so many homies die that I ain't got no feeling

So I handles mine, pack a strap and keep on strivin

And quick to let these niggaz if it get down to violent

Cause these haters ain't no friends to me, they make it plain

But I refuse to be a victim of these ghetto games

Break away from all the stress, bullshit and aggravation

And now I'm quick to blast if you want a confrontation

But it seem like every time I turn around it's drama

Hella flowers, coffee drinkin, and cryin momma

Somethin tellin me this madness ain't gon' never stop

So I keep strivin fo' the top



[Chorus]

Now everything you think you seein might not be the truth

Understand these cowards fold when these niggaz shoot

Understand this rap shit is just another way

Just another lick where motherfuckers gettin paid

It really ain't the same as it was in the past

Back when shit was new, niggaz thought that it would last

Understand this rap game is just another front

Just another way for motherfuckers comin up, and it's like that



[Paris]

So what's the ticket out the ghetto for these young players

Slangin dope, playin ball or bein rhymesayers

They want the money fast, FUCK SCHOOL, that ain't what's happenin

So some of them niggaz got together and they started rappin

And it would be like who the tightest on the microphone

Makin demos in the basement of they momma's home

And 'fore you know it niggaz got theyself a record deal

And now they makin money, doin what they love for real

Limosines, fast cash, and autographs

Groupie hoes after every show be workin the staff

And magazines givin love cause they shit is best

Unless of course it's The Source and you from the West

Now momma's braggin cause they baby's on the television

And they livin every day, like it's Thanksgiving

But you know, what they say if it sound too good

to be true it probably is that's the music biz



[Chorus]



[Paris]

I'm 28 and I've been in the game since '86

World tours, cash money, and hella hits

Done seen these rap stars disappear like civil rights

And go from po' to rich to po' again, overnight

So many perils in this game if yo' team is faulty

That's why my lawyer keep these motherfuckin devils off me

And freak bitches be, quick to set you up by playin

that pussy game like, you the daddy or you rapin

See dumb niggaz get they money took, tryin to be

that motherfucker on the television out with Robin Leach

A couple of cars, hella clothes, and before you know it

That nigga to' back, hella broke with nuttin showin

So here's a little game from a homey that's still playin

The mo' shit you see a nigga with, the mo' he payin

In this rap life, nuttin what it seem to be

I hope you motherfuckers feel me, that's reality



[Chorus x2]