Testo You Ain't Gotta Lie - Ice Cube feat. Chris Rock
Testo della canzone You Ain't Gotta Lie (Ice Cube feat. Chris Rock), tratta dall'album War & Peace Vol. 2 (The Peace Disc)
I know you like to see me doin' bad, but I'm doin' good
Fuck the police that's rollin' through my neighborhood
Fuckin' pecker woods see me in the five speed
I don't care if his motherfuckin' eyes bleed
This is my weed, this is my world
Don't get mad when you see them hundred spokes twirl
Handed out while you spent your last on a pearl
The Don Dada, I'm hotter than holy water
Wish I was your baby father, cause I got a fuckin' head on my shoulder
And lead in my holster, face on a poster
The kind of nigga that you wanna get close to
But you can't so you start to lyin'
Just like a nigga's ass think he dyin'
Get to cryin', snitchin' and testifyin'
To all my people if I'm talkin' bout your baby momma
When she meet Ice Cube, tell her save the drama
Yo Cube, I got all the freaks
(You ain't got to lie to kick it)
Yo forget them broads, I just paid my auntie
(You ain't got to lie to kick it)
Tell your momma, tell your daddy, tell your auntie
(You ain't got to lie to kick it)
Tell your cousin, tell your sister, if she want me
(You ain't got to lie to kick it)
I'mma be as real as I can with this
Not just a fake analyst on cannabis
Who only say that the world is scandalous
Without findin' out a way to handle this
Dismantle this, either with the rhyme or the fist
How the fuck we get in the belly of this bitch
Or be rich if it wasn't for this snitch
Lyin' to the enemies, by conspiracies
I'mma say this till the day that I die
Seven thirty fives bring on vicious lies
While you bullshittin', I'm hard hittin' like 2Pac
I keep spittin' till my heart stop
Young niggas tryin' to tell me that I'm played
Once they say you played, nigga you must be paid
Pushin' weight since the tenth grade, do my thang
Got more plaques than Jordan got rings, nigga sang
Yo Cube, I got the new Vix 9000
(You ain't got to lie to kick it)
They got the new Playstation in the window
(You ain't got to lie to kick it)
Tell your momma, tell your daddy, tell your auntie
(You ain't got to lie to kick it)
Tell your cousin, tell your sister, if she want me
(You ain't got to lie to kick it)
I hate to see your ass comin', with your mouth runnin'
Talkin' bout somethin', that ain't meanin' nothin'
Bout your second cousin, who be always buzzin'
Wish she was or wasn't, who she now fuckin'
Stories by the dozen plus you got the sequel
To let you tell it Randy Moss is your people
It's evident, your ass lie like the president
With stretch marks on your mouth is the evidence
How the fuck can your friends be the Benjamins
And your little ass car is full of fender bends
There you go on the stand with your hand up
Testifyin' about a man that's in handcuffs
We should do you like the Mack said
And if he lie like a crackhead, pop him like a blackhead
Let him ooze, let him loose
Let him lie about his motherfuckin' ass on the news
Yo Cube, check out this ring, 69 karats
(You ain't got to lie to kick it)
It's kryptonite baby, kryptonite
(You ain't got to lie to kick it)
Tell your momma, tell your daddy, tell your auntie
(You ain't got to lie to kick it)
Tell your cousin, tell your sister, if she want me
(You ain't got to lie to kick it)
Tell your momma, tell your daddy, tell your auntie
(You ain't got to lie to kick it)
Tell your cousin, tell your sister, if she want me
(You ain't got to lie to kick it)
You ain't got to lie to kick it
Hey you know I wrote this right?
Yeah I produced
Yeah everything the brother ever did
It's me, you can trace it back to me
Yeah yeah yeah I tell him how to dress
I tell him, remember he had the Jheri curl, I cut his hair
Yeah that's right
Yeah I produced all his movies, we gettin' ready to do somethin' new
We gettin' ready to do somethin' new
Kind of like a Player's Club meets a Titanic
With a little touch of Fat Beach yeah
Yeah I think you'd be good in that baby
I think you'd be mighty fine in that
Yeah yeah yeah where to call me?
Call me at, at Cube's house
(My house?)
Yeah yeah yeah don't worry, don't worry about it
You know, you know Cube owe me four million dollars
But I let him wash my cars on the weekend
You ain't right
Lying motherfuckers
You ain't got to lie to kick it
Credits
Writer(s): O'shea Jackson, Chucky Thompson, Lauryn N. Hill, Richard Worley Jr. Shelton
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