Trouble lyrics

by

Shyheim


[Verse 1: DJ Quik]
I'm not ya one hit wonder
And when you see me on the streets in a black jeep
Know I got the heat up under
Not up under the seat, up under my cheek
Like so close to me that when I move it squeaks
I ain't no big buff dude I'm a rap singer
I exercise one muscle that's my strap finger
And I can't call it how I see it no more
Cause these n*ggas'll take ya words back and twist em' like a pretzel
And these b*tches be the same too
Comin' with that sob story crocodile tears trying to game you
And that's exactly what the game do
And if you ever get caught dirty with a n*gga she gon' blame you
So what in the hell you want to floss her for?
It's supposed to be bout' what a baller n*gga cost that ho (yeah)
You givin' a game of black eye in ya S-5
While you n*ggas kick back poppin' X you let that cuz' dry
And that b*tch supposed to carry her own car note (c'mon, yep)
And don't be going for that sh*t "I got a sore throat" (yeah)
Give that b*tch a couple of Sucrets (mmm hmm)
Or give that that ho that application down on Vernon to that duplex (see ya)

[Hook: AMG]
When I bump on this trouble
n*ggas gettin' big money on the double
Fast lane, champagne, rubber to burn
Gettin' rich b*tch is the only concern
When I bump on this trouble
n*ggas gettin' big money on the double
Fast lane, champagne, rubber to burn
Gettin' rich b*tch is the only concern
The only concern
[Verse 2: AMG]
b*tch you get f*cked, can't suck
But you want a n*gga with a million bucks
A 5-double-0 and a Rover truck
I bend 'em all over 'til I know they stuck
Want to tell your friends that you f*cked with A
But how many di*ks did ya suck today?
Do we play ball? Do we move that weight?
All I got for a motherf*ckin' ho is hate
b*tch want to get drunk and high
Point that booty on to the sky
Square ass b*tch go bake a pie
Get a tattoo of a di*k in ya eye
Want to be flied call Continental (b*tch)
The Benz ain't a rental
Sippin' on sh*t that ya can't pronounce
Ho quit staring at my bank account

[Hook: AMG]
When I bump on this trouble
n*ggas gettin' big money on the double
Fast lane, champagne, rubber to burn
Gettin' rich b*tch is the only concern

[Verse 3: DJ Quik]
I'm the bomb b*tch, I'm seizing
P the reason you know
Cause pimpin'll have you seeing me with a bad ass ho
Legendary my name
Secondary you came
And you won't see me stop making hits 'till I walk with a cane
Still 5'11", 6 feet with shoes
Compton, OG n*gga givin' n*ggas the blues
Etched in stone, makin' yo b*tch fetch the bone
I'm calling the cops punk motherf*ckers catch the phone
The walkie talkie, the 2-way and all of the above
Nightstick up yo ass 'til we all see blood
f*ck ya, I'm a cop too (what?)
I'm a cop me a kilo of yay
And try to get it crackin' like it's '82 (ahh yeah)
With Monte Carlos and European firms cop them El Co's on that gold lace
Dippin' round the whole place (whole place)
f*ck a 6-pack n*gga cop the whole case (whole case)
And when them marks come n*gga crack they whole face
The way my Glock c*ck keep a n*ggas full
Got him spittin' like that pitcher from the KC Royals
Socked the P.D., haters R.I.P
Very sincerely yours
Quik n*gga please
[Hook: AMG]
When I bump on this trouble
n*ggas gettin' big money on the double
Fast lane, champagne, rubber to burn
Gettin' rich b*tch is the only concern
When I bump on this trouble
n*ggas gettin' big money on the double
Fast lane, champagne, rubber to burn
Gettin' rich b*tch is the only concern
The only concern
When I bump on this trouble
n*ggas gettin' big money on the double
Fast lane, champagne, rubber to burn
Gettin' rich b*tch is the only concern

Ahh!
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