Whistle - Sandpeople

Cats like you and me are crisscrossed

I was driving down to Cali, with Ross, listening to Rick Ross

I used to dish wash

Now I’m trying to get illegal chips washed

Never Scared like Chris Rock

Cause while y’all was marketing these fucking clowns

I was doing dirt, harvesting a hundred pounds

Destiny’s Child want a solider, is that a fact?

Why don’t you send those bitches over to Iraq?

See, I don’t act perky for money

Y’all girly and grubby, Fergie is ugly

I’ll say what I want

I spit what’s sick as fuck, inconspicuous

Y’all know why we don’t drive with drugs in the front

The trunk in the 'Lac's deep

Don’t take it literally, I still get away with it in the backseat

With or with no tires

They ain’t got me on no wire

Cause they ain’t got me with no priors

I never put myself in situations that be sketchy as fuck

That’s why you’ll never catch me in cuffs

Holla

I be Mix Master Spits

I split rappers' wigs

Should I work hard so the gov could get half my chips?

Fuck it, I should just traffic bricks

But then again, fuck that, I can’t give crack to kids

Homie had methods to get cash and quick

Kick the door down, rob who lives at the crib

Should I get gats and stick?

When the victim’s so poor they ain’t even have nothing to give cats that did

If you chit-chat with pigs, my fist crack your ribs

You get smashed, like the 'Lac when sis crashed the whip

I ain’t never met a chick bad as this

She tried to crack the whip like a bitch ass and dipped

I call up mommy like I’m thick at the hips

Tell her I got company to fix Mac some grits

In reality, the big fact is this

The kid came with only one thing to hit, that’s his licks

It’s amusing to see what I loosely do to these verses

As you can see, the eulogy’s usually brutally perfect

Humanly urges has me loony, looting two or three purses

And you can be murdered, but I don’t think your jewelry’s worth it

And if I owned a street sweeper, you would be nervous

Cause I would sweep your whole street like community service

Me and my bredren are musically servants

Shit, we give a fuck 'bout what you frugally purchase

Yea

And I ain’t get all wet

Ain’t been in no car wrecks

But I ain’t scared and y’all fret like guitar necks

We rob for loochie, keep our toolies

In street fights we beef like the Shi’ites and Sunnis

So the next life around, give me the simple things

50 of Simple’s beats, digis, and triple beams

Yea