U Know Why - MC Eiht

I ain’t stupid yo

Motherfucker ran with the game

See a gang of fumes rose watching the choir sing

Say my nigga, he was good for the hood

Two shots caught him slipping, in his place he stood

We going to stick the script, but this ain’t no act

Record Sales are the work, man bring on stacks

Way back in the days when we caught Jags

Couple years after they introduce crack

Bred mac with them hood rats on 1580

They was haters back then, motherfuckers was shady

Bitches were kinda feisty, enemies was sheisty

Wannabe MCs trying to out-rhyme me

Please don’t fight my gen no more

Imma kick in the door and squeeze the 44

And y’all quick to float if you’re quick enough

Man the shots do burn, so don’t act tough

So when the shots get to ranging out

You Know Why

And y’all done stopped all that hanging out

You know why

You ain’t real what you sing about

You know why

That’s why you biting for the paper route

You know why

Fools be fake and gold plated

You know why

And I don’t see how y’all made it

You know why

Why we got to kill them off, Eiht?

You know why

Man these fools got us twisted and it’s way too late

I love pot and photos that show your gang folds

I wonder how you look when the casket closes

Compton all day.

#1 West City

And when we bang coolest, boy, shit ain’t pretty

Niggas do dirt and get soaked with SAs

We even catch you slipping up on your best days

And I love West girls man, they love thugs

And I love hotties snug out of town with drugs

Fuck a police mugshot, shoot up a block

Fuck a neighborhood watch man, sell them a rock

When they knock at the door man, flush it all down

And quickly send it off back out of town

8 seconds to the truck boys, all it takes

Two shots to the side, don’t slam your brakes

When the neighborhood get through, all of you wakes

Compton on top through and all it takes

Grown man in the coup, boy, don’t play games

Any motherfucker drops when the pistol aims

We don’t call out names, fool, we fight in the club

When we blow chronic smoke, it’s more than it does

Big ass bitch won’t buy ego rough

That heart-piece is filled and crushed and snubbed

Imma shoot one-one and shots kill you softly

The second shot’s to back your ass up off me

Fuck around lose your shiny valuables in a scuffle

Fake motherfuckers caught up in the Hollywood shuffle

But they don’t muffle the sound all over South Central

Drive-by mentality, shoot out the rims

You ain’t got to go to the East to get your G-Unit

West Coast gang unit, vest shoot right through it

You punk motherfuckers d-don't d-don't do it

Compton till I die, boy, thought you knew it