Studio Gangster - Pooh-Man
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 east side
Where nothing's a crime no roots to a bye bye
Tired of motherf**kers spitting nothing but drama rhymes
Flapping his lips and ain't never squeezed a nine
Try to compete with me fool you ain't competitive
Stop claiming my town before I give your a** a sedative
Hay maker and uppercuts hey n**ga you weak as f**k
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**king your b**ch
Getting gawked by your manager did for your cash
That's what you get with your uneducated a**
Pooh's the pistol toting dank smoking b**ch choking
Young player from Oakland
I was taught by o G's fool what you stressing
A K's mac 12's fool smith weapons
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**king mic down
I'm coming for your a** n**ga 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 a**
I got something better motherf**ker
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 a** b**ch you slimy a** worm
When will you learn you only get what the f**k you earn
I'm from the town of the motherf**king Mack
Even my b**ch draws a big black get 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 cock 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 ** fictitious
Man I'm telling you these lies be vicious
And these same motherf**kers 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 other words more cash
Pooh be coming in first with these n**gas coming in last
So I take my nine and my sensor alarm
And I straight go crazy and take his f**king head off
For being all in my f**king mix
You punk motherf**king a** h** trusting b**ch
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**king mouth
Before my partner little e blow your motherf**king head off
You want some funk n**ga well you got it
It's like eight ball to the corner pocket
