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She had to get a pimp, she couldn't make it on her own
She had to get a pimp, she couldn't make it on her own
She had to get a pimp, she couldn't make it on her own
She had to get a pimp, she couldn't make it on her own
California Air, chain all blue, like it's runnin' out of air
I keep a bad bitch wit' a fat derriere
And you know that hoe fresher than a new pair
Retro elevens on the pedal, I'm taking this to the next level
Competition best invest up in shovel
And if you niggas still wanna make a deal with the devil
I can help you meet him, introduce you to my barrel (to my barrel)
All you artists walkin' 'round wit'cha wack raps (wack raps)
And getting fucked by the game, Kat Stacks (Kat Stacks)
And any nigga thinkin' he can make it happen
I'll be outside of Staples with the bitches and the Phantom
Mothafucka!
She had to get a pimp, she couldn't make it on her own
She had to get a pimp, she couldn't make it on her own
She had to get a pimp, she couldn't make it on her own
She had to get a pimp, she couldn't make it on her own
Pull up on them bitches, steppin' out on thirty inches
In my L.A. Dodger fitted with some Louie V stitching
Niggas wanna catch me slippin', yeah they prayin' and they wishin'
Cause a nigga clockin' dough, and I'm fuckin' all they bitches
(Yo you fuckin' all they bitches?) Yeah I'm fuckin' all they bitches
And it's money over bitches and I'm preachin' my religion
Cause this game that I'm living 'bout as cold as my wrist is
If you know my pops then you know I'm 'bout the business
Smoke big trees, Christmas
Chain super sick, syphilis
My flow retarded nigga, gifted
This game's a bitch, watch me pimp it
She had to get a pimp, she couldn't make it on her own
She had to get a pimp, she couldn't make it on her own
She had to get a pimp, she couldn't make it on her own
She had to get a pimp, she couldn't make it on her own
If you don't kick it wit' me, who you gon' kick it with?
Ice Cube is the shit, who you been speakin' with?
They been lying to you if they told you different
I got a different cool type of temperament
West Coast style baby on some California shit
They mighta told you that, I was hard on a bitch
You know how it go, some bitches think they slick
Look at me and think they 'bout to get rich
Uh-oh, danger
You are, a stranger
Who am I, I am The Lone Ranger
Tonto tell 'em, I'll run yo' fucking ass through the ringer
It goes
She had to get a pimp, she couldn't make it on her own
She had to get a pimp, she couldn't make it on her own
She had to get a pimp, she couldn't make it on her own
She had to get a pimp, she couldn't make it on her own
What about me
What about me
What about me
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