It's on

Where they at, where they at, where they at



I sold tapes every day me and Freddy B

Been  famous since 1983

Give me ten dollars, and you straight get blessed

A rap all about you called the special request

Oakland, you know I go way back

To coug nuts, fal stangs, and cadillac's

When homeboys put vogues on any car

With 6 by 9's smoking burners

Everybody got addicted to my dopefiend beat

Whole town fucked around and started smoking D

Every rap I ever made was about this town

I made 7 whole albums with no James Brown

And even though I love his music, I just can't stand

The way they used it all up and didn't pay the man

And after 2 platnum albums, you call me weak

Cause I don't sell records in the East

Now what's funky, I say pussy on an old hoe

I guess y'all fools don't know

Why some good rappers can't sell no tapes

It's not the company's fault, the shit sounds fake

You wanna be in the trunk, with the booming box

While the young bitches ride on your jock

You can't do it like this homey, so just pass it

And stop kissing them white folks asses

It's like you smoked a whole damn key

You rap so fast you keep leaving the beat

I'm from the old school, I love P-Funk

But now rap music is all that they want

So when I'm in my car, I play Clinton

And when I'm on the stage I start pimping

And when I hear your shit, I push eject

Then I throw it out the window with the rejects

And when the hard core rappers go soft

I like to watch when they ass fall off

Cause ain't nothing worth kicking like a sucka MC

And any other rappers ever talk about me

I don't stop rapping, that's all they can say

And how I dogg bitches, every day

But if you can't be a dogg, then you're weak

You be phony like a side show freak

Some rappers try to come off positive

Where I'm from that just ain't how it is

They say rap music is here to stay

But the sucka MC's don't think that way

It took 8 long years before I got my break

So I wonder why rapper's make fake ass tapes

You won't get paid like I did, so give up punk

And while your in the studio, I'm in the trunk

You got no choice, so don't flip that coin

This ain't the military, so you punks can't join

It ain't pop, it's called underground rap

From Oakland California and the shit sounds phat

I'm spitting raps to my motherfucking homies

That's why they listen to the one and only

I used to be broke, but now we all used to be

Got no game for a bitch, all the game is for me

And these bitches, can't say shit to me

They could never could fuck with Short baby

I'm not a tounge twisting rapper with a funny style

Don't dress hip hop and dance real wild

But I do sell records like a motherfucker

Even though you might I'm just another sucka

I find the beat and then never switch

Grab the microphone and then call you a bitch

You want rent money, I got pimp money

One thing's for sure, I won't give it to a hoe

I throw a bitch in the god damn trunk

And start slamming that Oakland funk

Short Dogg's in the house, once again

Trying to fade the platnum, with Shorty the Pimp

And when I do, I'm going straight to the bank

Withdraw some money and buy some dank

You can't relate to my motherfucking homies

That's why they listen to the one and only

I grew up on the funk called P

But these motherfuckers growing up on me

And if I ego trip, and my head is fucked

I take my ass back, to where I grew up

And get real boy, it's never too late

Before I do like you and make a weak ass tape

I'm in the trunk...



in the trunk, in, in the trunk

in the trunk, in, in the trunk

in the trunk beating down the block



in the trunk, in, in the trunk

in the trunk, in, in the trunk

in the trunk beating down the block