Mac Mall, San Quinn, JT Tha Bigga Figga Lyrics

Album: Unknown

Crestside 2 Fillmoe

*(Mac Mall)*

 

 Uh, we in the Village!

 We in the Village nigga!

 

 *(JT)*

 

 Figgaro-Messy Marv production

 

 *(Mac Mall)*

 

 It's Mac Mall, Baby Capone in the Crestside of the Valley-Jo, hooked up wit 

 my dogs from the Filthy-Mo!

 

 *(San Quinn)*

 

 An if you don't know about it, then ask yo hoe about it.

 Cuz it's goin down nigga!

 

 One time.

 Two times.

 

 

 Verse 1 *(JT Tha Bigga Figga)*

 

 I slap some twinkies on my two-door Camaro

 mucho dinero

 traded a fuel injected carborator for a hottie 4-barrel

 ship kits fo' Cam

 break down the grams on the dash

 put the 4, 15's wit the Floor Masters hangin out the ass

 an we love to smash

 back to back in Vett's and Jags

 from the west coast California where them ol skools act bad

 wit the rest of the fam strikin in hot Vogues an shit

 quick to scratch up a playas pocket an keep on poundin this shit.

 

 Verse 2 *(Mac Mall)*

 

 Appear quiet, bust in my grill

 young titan wit the toys concealed

 big nuts an nerves of steel

 got money to make

 I'm bout to serve Francis Drake

 pullin hundreds an toss the keys to LA

 boss ballin in Green Bay

 as the hood take brothas

 under

 we be countin crispy federal notes

 cuz I ain't tryin to sell dope

 in 2-triple-0

 white folks knock my hustle

 like I'm the mayor of the City Of Dope

 me an my thugs hit the lobbies

 looking like we'll smuther everybody

 kamakazi bout this money don't try me

 my cuddie

 my cromies

 in this, we the titans to meet

 juss a day in the life of the elite

 so don't hate me, hate the game

 you hate it cuz you workin wit small change

 Sucka who's to blame?

 Matter fact don't answer that

 you'll probably say some square shit an Mackin' Ass gon' have to put you on 

 your back

 you can't touch me

 you way to pussy

 you besta come wit mo than some choppas to try an rush me

 it's Mac Mall, Baby Capone

 I hooked Vallejo wit the 'Mo an now we paper chasin outta control!

 (Whoo! Whoo!)

 

 

 Chorus *(JT Tha Bigga Figga)*

 

 By now you know the name (know the name)

 done brought ya that "Game Recognize Game" ain't a thang changed

 from the Crest 2 Fillmoe (Fillmoe)

 we Mobb slow

 in 3-C down bitch you know the rules hoe.

 

 

 Verse 3 *(San Quinn)*

 

 By know them niggas know

 don't lose focus tryin to scope us

 watch us like the rollas

 get in closer wanna blow us

 I'm the playa that don't play no games

 keepin suckas out my range

 you crooked to the game

 feel the fire as I flame

 every verse aimed at yo brain

 the pencils in yo house ain't

 you need to watch yo spouse mayne

 she all in my mouth mayne

 starring at my gold

 she creep like a mouse mayne

 juss thought I'd let you know

 the falsified on dime

 real G's kill 'em all

 if you Mac'in keep it crackin like my nigga Jamal

 if I fall

 I bounce back like elastic

 on bastards

 through the "Total Recall"

 on phony stars as we mash in

 for hoes, it's hard to get at ya

 we down cash advancements so fresh you'll figure fashion

 crashin the cars

 an dismatling marks

 fake niggas wit no heart they get they ass ripped apart

 we sharper than a needle, an I bust it wit my people

 get leathal if I hit ya wit this sleeper

 ain't too hard to reach ya

 like a teacher seat ya in a corner like a dunce

 cuz ya known as a clone and performer of them stunts

 and I'm tired of givin warnings to punks

 thinkin cuz we rappin, we about to front

 you be the first to see a hearst chump

 I know you don't want no funk

 I see you niggas shakin

 all up, up in this game

 but you suckas fakin.

 

 

 *(San Quinn talking)*

 

 Yeah. I'm doing this for my homie Kareem.

 It's ya nigga San Quinn, JT an Mac Ass Mall.

 (Fa sho)

 Fa all ya'll.

 Bouncin in yo trunk it's this Yay Area bump.

 Yeah you know what I'm talking about.

 For all you niggas and you bitches.

 Feel the dope to this realness.

 For the 9-8 to the 9-9 to the year 2000.

 

 *(JT talking)*

 

 What, what?

 We finna put it down. We put it down.

 9-8, 9-9

 Uh

 9-8, 9-9

 The year 2

 2-triple-0.

 A Figgaro-Messy Marv production.

 Late night in the Laboratory.

 Whippin it.

 Puttin it down as usual.

 Campaingin an maintainin.

 Oh, it's goin down.

 Uh, it's goin down.

 Uh, an we out.

 An we out.