| Why won’t she? Why won’t she? |
| One day she gon' see she got me lonely |
| Those are words you’ll never hear from us |
| You didn’t know it’s pimpin' over here with us? |
| Oh, what a hit we made, never givin' a bitch a break |
| Sippin' on them vintage grapes, police we quick to shake |
| Pedal to the metal, never hit the brakes |
| Smokin' hella weed, no sticks or shakes |
| Smoke with hella niggas, I instigate |
| Dumpin' on niggas, I hit and skate |
| Fans, they picture-take, yo man’s thy pimpatrate |
| I’ma take all the mony the ho make |
| She gon' keep it comin', man, and don’t wait |
| I don’t fake, I don’t hate when I put my voice on tape |
| Everybody go so stupid dumb |
| Everybody say, «Man, here he come» |
| Like 1−5-1 Bacardi Rum, Dre gon' get the party dumb |
| Always got bomb for the lung |
| And when the police come, man, I run |
| Yoking something, dosing something |
| Smoking something, Syko make them hoes sing |