Representing - JT The Bigga Figga

Da-da-da, da-da-da, da-da-da, da-da

Hahaha, '95 baby, it’s going down

Tell 'em, baby

Tell me how does it feel to get played by a hoe?

Nigga, I wouldn’t know, my destination’s Fillmore

Feel me though

Pimpin' hoes on the daily is my hustle

Trying to survive so I strive using muscle

The step where I’m from, if you don’t pimp, you don’t eat

From the valley to the Flavo-C up to pastry

Page me when you need a pimp to talk to

Fillmore’s the turf where the proper hoes walk through

Independent player with the major conversation

Had two roads to go, pimp or die of starvation

I chose to pimp, couldn’t see myself singing the blues

Keep a bitch broke, I flow and buy your hoe tennis shoes

So she can run around the block with the stack

Definition of a Fillmore nigga, pimpin' is a mack

Stay on track, get all the fetti that you can get

Seff tha Gaffla comin' through in the '90 drop 'Vette

Can’t be idiotic off the chronic

The last time that they heard some of these cats, man, they plotted

But they cannot stop it, my forward progress is constant

Nonsense in Fillmoe, '95, us niggas do not value our lives and

Strive to survive is like each in a piece, we can’t come together with the peace

Each and everyone got a gun so you know they release

Watch the increase in homicides, a gang of my homies locked

Behind the walls beating on their balls, looking up at the sky

Wondering when that you’re down again, loungin' friends

But they do not know niggas starving, we ain’t having ends

Death walking around with his mug on under a hood

Up to no good, nigga, you should

Hold on, since my opinion sending me nothing

Let me save my breath, your kind ain’t got too much time left, gangsta

Body cold, ice froze, so captivated

To the devil or the Most High, a young life is compensated

I made it 20 years, seen many friends get bucked down

And fears that I’d be trucked down is why D-Moe don’t fuck around

I’m like a bloodhound and I smell the funk

Of a dozen dirty dogs with the scent of a skunk

Hella drunk off that Grand Ma', dozing off that doja

I quickly reminisce about my dawg, Young Ova

I got my motto peeling caps, fuck busting raps

Killing the cats that pulled their straps and laid him on his back

But I’m on track, intact with these ghetto games

Don’t go against the grain, my main thang’s to make a change

Inside my brain, shit is blurry

I’m fighting my anger with a fury, I seen 'em blasted and buried

Now I’m worried about my own life, 'cause it’s a fact

All the dirt that I’ve done since age 1 is coming back

Watch your back as I attack with the Mac-1−0

It’s D-dash-Moe from 924, blazing blunts by the 'Sco

I’m feeling happy but I’m hurting, pulling down a curtain

Damn, another player took up off the earth

Who did it?

Where they from?

What, another homie?

Man, back in the days, it was real but now love nowadays is so phony

Can’t be forsaken, so many family’s hearts steady breaking

We need to have a 'stop the violence' presentation

And have thousands of participants and teach

Education to our slowly dying young that’s strong generation

I know I’m hurting my mother but it’s the poor and the rich

And I’ll be damned if I get the short end of the stick

Yes, I stack the dollar, but beg for a dollar, fuck that

I stack a major fuckin' grip and still charge a punk bitch in this game

Focus on the dopest

Shit that you heard, the skids nigga wrote this, bitch

Don’t deceive, I have greed, just perceive

Living lavish, smoking the indo, we the players stacking major cabbage

Your life or his life, no matter what side

The nigga with the gun or the brother who died

So I pick and choose, nigga, you lose, you know the rules, stay real

Or be an overnight gangsta off the booth

What goes on when I finish spitting game?

Shit gives us problems like seeds in the rain

More power to you, motivated by your pay

Stayed away from double agents but you still caught a case

Young homies on the block with their dome straight hittin'

This is going out to the homies up in Quentin

Folsom, Suzy, the players in the 'Ville

The homies in the county but you got to keep it real, feel

Me when I be buckin' through the town

I represent the Low so they represent the crown

Frown on your face when the bass hit your speakers

We all is the victims and the Feds is the creepers

Crept up in your house, if you’re dirty then it’s over

58 G’s and four pounds of doja

Hit your other spot, found the scale and the chop

Same homies that you kick it with the one’s that got you popped

Or you’re striking in your bucket but you know you’re looking shifty

Holding the cutty with the clip that hold 50

The way the homies teach 'em, man, we never knew you had a crew

Sharp and in your bucket freeloading up the avenue

Revenues turning, Vogues on the street burning

Face the facts, their stacks were milly macks

Or tracks they try to chill, then they try to kill

Cut a nigga throat and then they act real ill

Get the bill from the coroner, so I’m warning ya

From the FilthyMoe town in the state of California

Take my place as the rightful owner

Fuckin' with my folks, mayne, you’s a goner

Moving on the double causing trouble

Take it from the Figga, mayne, you know it’s time to bubble

Above and beyond for the game that it shows

The Get Low Playaz straight down doors, ya froze

Haha, that’s how we do it, mayne

We come tight from The GLP, baby boy

Right out the Fillmoe town, you know what I’m sayin'

Fillmore, California, know what I’m sayin'

It’s going down on a flame, baby boy

We gotta keep our mack hand down, you know what I’m sayin'

I’ma send that out to all you young players out there who’s striking in y’all

Cutty’s

Striking in the Cougnuts, them Mazdas, you know what I’m sayin'

And all them tight ass trucks and all that old good shit

Get that shit down on your muthafuckin' ass, you know what I’m sayin'

It’s the Figga, baby, I’m just posted for the 1995

Up here at Bayview Productions, chillin' with my boy The Enhancer

Keepin' it going, you know what I’m sayin', ha, for the 9−5, mayne

We up in this muthafucka, mayne

We up in here fa sho

Finna come up on this independent status, baby boy

Get Low Records, mayne, GLP, Straight Out Tha Labb Entertainment

What’s up, Rack Skerz, baby boy?

You know what I’m sayin', much love, mayne

And to the whole Get Low family, what’s going on?

My boy Rich the Factor out there in Kansas City representing

Represent baby baby, yeah

And uh, it’s a West Coast thang, so uh, we gon' let this shit roll on out

One love … for the 9−5, mayne