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