DJ Quik — Streets Iz Callin

[Intro] I see I gotta play another game, so… If I’mma go out, I’mma go out right, you know’m sayin’? (Talk to ‘em, dog) Cool wit’ it all [Verse 1] I’m untouchable (yeah) I’m on a plane, Calcutta bound Meeting with them people from that sample we done turned around Trying to stop the war with a hardcore dancefloor type of lesson ‘Cause the truth will hurt forever more Now what’s my punishment? (What?) You mean to tell me I could get sued for making sure my people have some fun and shit? (Damn) It’s a funny game It’s like the time that ol’ boy got Pac, and me, and Jackie kicked off that Houston plane For drinking Remy Martin, acting up and starting And that’s all I got to say about that—pardon ‘Cause that’s a binge frenefit, nigga been the shit I fucked around and did business with niggas on some friend shit But to no avail, this is show and tell Only thing I ever got for working was a broken nail That’s all I really know about the streets It’s the hustle, get hustled, get down or get beat [Chorus: Chuckey] Wake up in some herbs this morning And I can hear the streets, they’re calling Wake up in the pool this morning I can feel the vibes, they’re calling [Verse 2] Now I done helped a lot of enemies that didn’t deserve it That’s probably why I be the one that you won’t see at their service We swerve and never nervous (Never) I’m a daredevil Just ask the homie Pervis, nigga, we on their level Ain’t nothin’ gon’ stop the flowing, and the 4-4’ing, and showing That I done been a corporation when y’all was still growing Niggas say I fell off, ha, (Fell off?) They gotta say that That give ‘em false security to think they demo ain’t wack Nigga, I’m standing on a bottle looking over the fence Trippin’ off this bullshit that we up against Crippin’ is mainstream, pimpin’ is ballfield The truth is stranger than a lie but it’s all real I’m a mack from the P-card, a G, a star A rider, a rebel, independent, believe we are Trying to forget about my past, that’s all Open a bottle of Cristal and pass it to y’all Now what up? Where the riders at? [Chorus: Chuckey] Wake up in some herbs this morning And I can hear the streets, they’re calling Wake up in the pool this morning I can feel the vibes, they’re calling [Verse 3] Stomp out my house on the hill, to El Villa Negril The Mediterranean, pay me and I’m back at the wheel In Montego Bay, drinking with G, Dr. B Chuckey mack a fe’, watch her climbing up the coconut tree Suga Free is no sweeter than the bitterest fruits Blame it on Compton and my niggerish roots I’m down to kick a hater with the biggest of boots It’s not about the strap, it’s ‘bout the nigga issues, fool I’m SuperCalifornialisticexpeal-a Creep around the city in a red Impala Short-tempered nyggas get stuck and die wet And short-money nyggas speak a different dialect So give me my Cris’, give me my hits, give me my bitch Give me my spliff, give me my fifth, give me my gift Tropical skin color, nice and thin mother Of my virtual kids because I hump in thin rubbers Now… [Chorus: Chuckey] Wake up in some herbs this morning I can hear the streets, they’re calling Wake up in the pool this morning I can feel the vibes, they’re calling