B. B. King - Make Love To Me lyrics

Verse one: erick sermon

Whoo! ah ah, ayahh, ahh ahh ahh

And you don’t stop, ahh ahh, word is bond, word is bond

Now introducing the sound from the ghetto

E double and too $hort, what the fuck you thought?

I come with the ruckus, it’s my thing when I swing

I’m born to mack, always strapped, with the black gat

Who out there I swear boy wanna get touched

Roll up, and catch a slug to the chest, so duck

I talk the talk, walk the walk, now nigga

Five hundred s drivin with hand on trigger

Crazy lestat, check my track record

Everything I touch is gold since eighteen years old

So what that mean? i roll the blunt

And puff the indo smoke in it, I trip in a minute

Crazy holy doctor holdin me cuz I be rockin b

Sewin up like monopoly, nobody’s stoppin me

Dig it, funkdafied like brat, how’s that?

I stick and move on tracks while I smoke a twenty sack

Who said the e can’t rock? that’s bullshit

Suck my dick and get a big fat lick of my balls

You wanna brawl? punk I thought not

You might get beat down and stomped like sasquatch

Your girl, like keith sweat, I wanna fuck her

Psych, I already stuck her

I got rhymes to make your whole head swell up

Here’s an icepack homeboy shut the hell up

I rock the mic with too $hort, y’all niggaz know what’s happenin

Everything he touch goes platinum

Eyeeaaaah!

Verse two: too $hort

I made a half a million in a week

And every nigga on the street got a tape playin me

You can’t believe it? erick sermon, rollin with $hort

Rolled from california all the way to new york

In big benzes, g-50 up

Now we trying to squash all that east/west stuff

We spent years in the studio makin funky tracks

Signed a bunch of niggaz with some tight ass raps

It’s like father dom, it’s like keith murray

Makin millionaires but it ain’t no hurry

Cuz we all in it for the long run

I won’t leave the studio until a song’s done

And ain’t nuthin really hard about gettin my cash

A big phat house with a million stash

You other niggaz got this rap game distorted

Givin dats to the label, straight gettin shorted

Claim you’re gettin paid, but I can’t tell

You keep rappin in my ear got me mad as hell

You talk a good game but I don’t believe in you

Be smokin lotta blunts but I got more weed than you

I guess I see you on the charts in the meanwhile

Another face in the crowd plus some freestyle

Wishin you could be in the light

Promoters pay me ten g’s just to breathe on the mic

Bitch! $hort dawg puttin it down with the e double

Verse three: erick sermon

Shhhhh! you remind me of my phat gold chain

Some of y’all are just small change

Be a boss with true true game

Yeah yeah

Dig this y’all, my music is dangerous

Atomic dog, coming through the smog with $hort dawg

Ahhh! quick with the trig jack be nimble

I shoot like g mob goes liftin through my window

Chik chik pow! how you like me now?

The man in the mirror it don’t get no clearer

$hort dawg, the e double, and breed we roll thick

Like girls in c.a.u. with the good power-u

Owww! money is the key to fame

So I can live it up with the girls on soul train

The impact, major league dough like dave justice

Yo breed, $hort dawg, show em how we bust this

Verse four: too $hort, mc breed, kool ace

Like some true pioneers, don’t forget it

Put the money on the table, let’s split it

We got enough g’s here to make us both happy

Tell them fans we ain’t runnin no coke factory

It’s $hort dawg the real pimp of the century

Girls get wet every time somebody mention me

I was known for my mackin back in eighty-four

I want it all, that’s what I keep stackin for

Have things that a rapper never dreamed of havin

And I can tell them how to get it just keep rappin

Life’s a battle, headed for the new sun

So many ways to get paid, you got ta choose one

Now some of the ways to get paid out is runnin your mouth

That street life will keep me tight, I’m talkin bout

Gettin green, dolla dolla bills y’all

That’s on the real, somethin you can feel y’all

Many claim to have game but you can get that on sale

But ain’t nuthin they sellin to you but arbor and gail

I mean sprinkle me homey cuz I’m bout dollars and cents

And if you ain’t haulin dollars well you ain’t holler

In flintI’d rather dip dip dive, so-socialize

Get loot from the great lakes, west to eastside

You tramp, trick, hach I spit

Undergrade if you ain’t gettin paid like this

The hours of the atl paves my name

Spittin mr. macker izzer are you still in the game

See I gets paid by the movement of the cut

I’ve been summoned by the cancer, to testify and bless

It’s that, big mack, like scripture is a phat kodeje?

So hide your hoe from me

Southern am-bassador, knockin at your door

Leadin a click that’s true, checkin knowin all fifty-two

See, all you tricks, best behave

It’s that southern nigga mack from the city of the brave

I got the platinum caul, yes yes y’all

So plant me with the green and them hoes and we can big ball

Yeah, now we rollin four deep

Double dosin, relaxin, and maxin to $hort and these beats

E double, $hort dawg, kool ace

In the place, and be all but bring you straight horror

Representin money

Buy you some nigga