How I Act In A Low Low (Remix) lyrics

[Intro]

[Hook: Ice Cube] x2
Even though I'm f*ckin with the po'-po'
Them n*gga know how I act in a low-low
Slow mo', n*gga check out my promo
You mo'fo's can't f*ck with my mojo

[Verse 1: Ice Cube]
I am the wrong n*gga, too f*ckin grown n*gga
To go for that n*gga, I ain't 'cha ho n*gga
I got, a hair trigger, I am the dome splitter
The deep-sea sniper, you got the wrong n*ggas
Retire like Jigga, here comes the Attila the Hun
Killin n*ggas for fun, these rappers is done
The bigger they come, the harder they fall
I burn like the sun, continue to ball
He's got nuts and plus the Don touch
And split the fine dutch, Starsky call Hutch
He's laid, with some sl*ts, up in some guts
Just back, in the cut, he thinks he's King Tut
Cain't f*ck, this n*gga up, cause just, the n*gga luck
That n*ggas, really love him and tear the city up
Uhh, even though I'm f*ckin with the po'-po'
Them n*gga know how I act in the low-low
[Hook] x2

[Verse 2: 2Pac]
Who me? A n*gga livin' life like a G
In that artillery keepin' n*ggas off of me
I can't sleep living in these wicked times
Peep, n*ggas after me cause they see I'm stacking G's and heat
You can holler if you want to please
I ain't runnin' with no punk crew be
Enemies and my range is on
You're in the danger zone
My f*ckin' game is strong, hotline
You suckas better find ya mind I got mine
From hustling and busting them rhymes
To my n*ggas up in Quentin
Down on Rikers Isle stay rile
But a n*gga gotta use his styles
These n*ggas don't know my style
Quick to smile, juvenile, was a problem child
Try to put me in the cross, but my force was wild
b*tch-made ass n*ggas don't know my style
These n*ggas don't know my style
Quick to smile, juvenile, was a problem child
Try to put me in the cross, but my force was wild
b*tch-made ass n*ggas don't know my style
[Hook] x2

[Verse 3: The Notorious B.I.G.]
I'm hard, Jehovah said I'm barred from the pearly gates
f*ck Him, I didn't wanna go to heaven anyway
But my momma got me on my knees with my hands gripped
Talkin' bout some "praise the Lord" sh*t
Hail Mary, f*ck her, I never knew her
I'd probably screw her and dump her body in the sewer
Our father, my pops stuck up dope spots big, black, and mean
With the fifth by the Gabardine
What you expected from his next of kin
I'm loco bro, but ain't no Mexican
I got nines in the bedroom, Glocks in the kitchen
A shotty by the shower if you wanna shoot me while I'm sh*ttin'
The lesson from the Smith & Wesson is depressin'
n*ggas keep stressin', the same motherf*ckin' question
How many shots does it take, to make my heart stop
And my body start to shake

[Hook] x4