Ill-M.B.T.N
Listen close, as life turns it's pages,
Makaveli here kickin' rhymes for the ages.
Seen things in stages,
Wise words spoken by sages,
From SkyTel to Blackberry pagers.
Your crew don't phase us,
We'll make you bustas pay us,
Run up in your spot like C.J. from San Andreas.
(Chorus)
I wrote this song a long time ago,
A real long time ago. Feel me!
I wrote this song a long time ago,
Was the dopest song I ever wrote... in '94.
What can a nigga do,
When half the people voted for George W.
Life's a bitch, cause George W., can't be true,
I wanna choke him, cause he's a snitch,
I'm talkin' bout George W. Smith, from city council,
He ran in '93 out in Oakland, you probabably didn't hear about him.
(Chorus)
I wrote this song a long time ago,
A real long time ago.
Way before Slim Shady was in demand,
Way before we dropped bologna on Afghanistan.
I wrote this song in '94.
{{missisng}} am I doin' this.
Look around the club,
See everyone in the place,
Showing Pac love,
Got a smile on my face.
The girl in the miniskirt, has bad taste,
Cause that shirt don't match,
There's a pudding stain on the back.
And what the **** is that! It might be doo doo!
And you in the back you ain't ****,
You want a Gin & Tonic but you didn't even tip.
And if you hit this table one more time,
Then the record might skip... might skip.
I told you, stop hittin' the table.
Tupac Shakur,
I wrote this rhyme in 1994.
I'm not alive!
Thug Life!
Dave Chappelle, that ain't your wife.
{{missisng}} ... Go Home!