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pooh man - studio gangster lyrics
“i’ve seen you on the street” “where you from?” “from oakland”
“nah, you’re not from oakland, i know oakland”
let’s take a ride with the boy from the eastside
where nothing’s a crime no roots to a bye-bye
tired of motherf-ckers spitting nothing but drama rhymes
flapping his lips, and ain’t never squeezed a nine
try to compete with me fool, you ain’t compet-tive
stop claiming my town, before i give your -ss a sedative
haymaker and uppercuts, hey n-gg- you weak as f-ck
i’m hitting like tyson, so fool what’s up?
you and your boys, you pop a whole lot of weak sh-t
yelling “pooh-man is flapping” but he’s f-cking your b-tch
getting ganked by your manager, did for your cash
that’s what you get with your uneducated -ss
pooh’s the pistol-toting, dank-smoking, b-tch-choking
young player from oakland
i was taught by o.g.’s fool, what you stressing?
ak’s, mac 12’s fool, smith & wessons
you got the audacity to false claim where you be
r.i.p. to s-p-i-c-e
you wanna be down with my town but my town ain’t down with ya clown
so studio gangster put your motherf-cking mic down
i’m coming for your -ss, n-gg-, you’re outta pocket
squeeze the trigger, eight ball in the corner pocket
a lotta stories circulating round town
seems my peers in this business try to put me down
he said this, she said that
but you know where they talking that fool: behind my back
never had the guts to step up
and my fans know that i can take a rhyme and change the flow
somewhat of a realist, cause i stay as real as this
and all those other brothers can do is make a wish
huh, so i refuse to kiss they -ss
i got something better, motherf-cker (gunshots)
more and more i find myself in the media
or maybe on the screen for new line cinema
yeah, your lips are flapping but my bank is still stacking
’93 and i ain’t out to do nothing but keep taxing
punk–ss b-tch, you slimy–ss worm
when will you learn you only get what the f-ck you earn?
i’m from the town of the motherf-cking mack
even my b-tch draws a big black gat, huh
so all the talking you doing gets you nowhere, player
the “peace to my nine” bullsh-t i just couldn’t bear
here’s my glock, listen to me c-ck it
the trigger is pulled, it’s eight ball in the corner pocket
i’m getting tired of my name used in a bad way
even though i ain’t around, these fools got something to say
claim i’m a thug, i sell drug ficticious
man i’m telling you, these lies be vicious
and these same motherf-ckers be all in my face
’93 i got the pop, and they all want a taste
you see i’m out to get richer, in otherwords more cash
pooh be coming in first with these n-gg-s coming in last
so i take my nine and my sensor alarm
and i straight go crazy and take his f-cking head off
for being all in my f-cking mix
you punk motherf-cking -ss hoe-trusting b-tch
yeah your partner pump you up, you throw your chest in the air
and then you got the nerves to badmouth a player
if i was you i’d shut my motherf-cking mouth
before my partner little e blow your motherf-cking head off
you want some funk n-gg-, well you got it
it’s like eight ball to the corner pocket
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