Too Short - In The Trunk Lyrics
Its onWhere they at, where they at, where they atI sold tapes every day me and freddy bBeen famous since 1983Give me ten dollars, and you straight get blessedA rap all about you called the special requestOakland, you know I go way backTo coug nuts, fal stangs, and cadillacsWhen homeboys put vogues on any carWith 6 by 9s smoking burnersEverybody got addicted to my dopefiend beatWhole town *****ed around and started smoking dEvery rap I ever made was about this townI made 7 whole albums with no james brownAnd even though I love his music, I just cant standThe way they used it all up and didnt pay the manAnd after 2 platnum albums, you call me weakCause I dont sell records in the eastNow whats funky, I say ***** on an old hoeI guess yall fools dont knowWhy some good rappers cant sell no tapesIts not the companys fault, the shit sounds fakeYou wanna be in the trunk, with the booming boxWhile the young *****es ride on your jockYou cant do it like this homey, so just pass itAnd stop kissing them white folks assesIts like you smoked a whole damn keyYou rap so fast you keep leaving the beatIm from the old school, I love p-funkBut now rap music is all that they wantSo when Im in my car, I play clintonAnd when Im on the stage I start pimpingAnd when I hear your shit, I push ejectThen I throw it out the window with the rejectsAnd when the hard core rappers go softI like to watch when they ass fall offCause aint nothing worth kicking like a sucka mcAnd any other rappers ever talk about meI dont stop rapping, thats all they can sayAnd how I dogg *****es, every dayBut if you cant be a dogg, then youre weakYou be phony like a side show freakSome rappers try to come off positiveWhere Im from that just aint how it isThey say rap music is here to stayBut the sucka mcs dont think that wayIt took 8 long years before I got my breakSo I wonder why rappers make fake ass tapesYou wont get paid like I did, so give up punkAnd while your in the studio, Im in the trunkYou got no choice, so dont flip that coinThis aint the military, so you punks cant joinIt aint pop, its called underground rapFrom oakland california and the shit sounds phatIm spitting raps to my mother*****ing homiesThats why they listen to the one and onlyI used to be broke, but now we all used to beGot no game for a *****, all the game is for meAnd these *****es, cant say shit to meThey could never could ***** with short babyIm not a tounge twisting rapper with a funny styleDont dress hip hop and dance real wildBut I do sell records like a mother*****erEven though you might Im just another suckaI find the beat and then never switchGrab the microphone and then call you a *****You want rent money, I got pimp moneyOne things for sure, I wont give it to a hoeI throw a ***** in the God damn trunkAnd start slamming that oakland funkShort doggs in the house, once againTrying to fade the platnum, with shorty the pimpAnd when I do, Im going straight to the bankWithdraw some money and buy some dankYou cant relate to my mother*****ing homiesThats why they listen to the one and onlyI grew up on the funk called pBut these mother*****ers growing up on meAnd if I ego trip, and my head is *****edI take my ass back, to where I grew upAnd get real boy, its never too lateBefore I do like you and make a weak ass tapeIm in the trunk...In the trunk, in, in the trunkIn the trunk, in, in the trunkIn the trunk beating down the blockIn the trunk, in, in the trunkIn the trunk, in, in the trunkIn the trunk beating down the block
