Bassman - Sandpeople

See me when you see me, come if you want it

Admit it there isn’t a problem you wanted

The people that know say I keep it one hundred

See me, my peoples be deep in the hundreds

Uh-huh, whatever keeps the fiends coming back

Always keep a G front to back

Bassman, hit 'em like… that, like that

You yell like… *scream*

I hit 'em with the twelve like… *gun-shot*

Then they ring the bells like… *police sirens*

The beat from Notti’s psychotic, with bodies that’s on it

I’m Johnny Mnemonic

If it was made by LRG then I probably got it

I roll with a pound of each strain

It’s my dough, I count it each day

Shut the fuck up!

What you know about the weed game?!

If the cops come, my shit going down a sink drain

The beat from Notti’s knocking, the paparazzis watching

Get killed like Johnnie Cochran

What that pill like?

Oxycontin?

What you need in life, I got it for a even price

You screaming like… I freedom fight…

I’m getting bread, yeah I’m fucking with triple beams at night

The infrared, get abducted by a beam of light

You think I’m ducking you but man, that ain’t even right

I try to keep pace, I ride the heat wave

I write the cause life’s a screenplay

And if so, you don’t know what part I got

I roll drunk while I’m toasting Bacardi shots

So what?

Call the cops!

They’ll probly bring coffee

If you say I’m «doing doughnuts» in the parking lot

Load up, target locked

Flashing like reporters' cameras

I put that nail in your coffin, we go to war with hammers

I’m bored with rappers recording practise, and I adjust

Exploring boundaries since normal standards ain’t high enough

Kinda drunk, high as fuck, driving up

Trying to act sober, life is tough then you pass over

Cash low when my hat’s lower

You George Clooney in a war movie

You only know how to act soldier

I’m that cold and I Stat Quo’d it

In rap mode I slap hoes and I act volgar

This is something I do best

Load one up and take it to the head, like Russian roulette

North by new West, my dude, we’re too fresh

So who’s next to fly over the Cuckoo’s Nest?

They call me Mr. Good Stuff

The way I hook that cook up like a sous-chef

And I can guarantee all the little fiends

Will quite literally «love it to death» (get it?)

There’s only a few left

The connect’s running low on his toes, ducking a few Feds, no

Payments unfold if you don’t go direct

switching hands with the brief case, not take that!

30 percent taxes of threat;

that’s high stakes for cheapstakes

You wanted that crack so we gave you freebase

And that shit hits, don’t you agree?

Keep face