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52 carat blue diamond Rhymin', interior designin', grindin' You can shake cheddar like me on the mic Hit your point, hold your money when you're rollin' the dice, baby Uhh.. either you go crash-and-burn Or wake up in the morning with cash to earn, tiga Check it homie get good with me If just I can find your hood again Who is that in the car? yo couldn't be All the way out here, yeah Nicki t Russian, get the weed sparked Get the party started And watch yo back fo the shark Nigga cold-hearted We got bakin soda All the way down in minnesota We got bakin soda Down in minnesota I got a fetish for Adidas, boss But I betcha don't know what my Fila's cost, do ya On chew, like dem baby pit bulls And ain't no way you can touch my....cool The 12th floor at the Marriot You know, me and my tigaz chill there a lot SongtexteFetti I sit alone when the mic's on With Tyson every time that the fight's on, kill 'em I remember rhymes used to ride with nets Flight at the midnight high with jets You know Al Capone stretched tryi' to save the sets And I'm teflon down, t shirts and gats Rhymes you can taste, Rhymes, Rhymes galore Rhymes you can buy at the candy store You know who I am, I'm like credit card scam Hot like tofu, greens and yams Extra-curricula, netting that riddicula Hit the cloud like the bear or the fiddila Shouldn've lied, I coulda been a good friend to ya Now I got to get rid of ya We got bakin soda All the way down in minnesota We got bakin soda Down in minnesota I told my mom somethin' that made her cry Looked her in the eye and said rappers don't die We not gonna have an' tour, but we gon get by So most of us gonna be in hell high, kickin' Now put the rhyme on a triple beam Now rock it up, and chop it up And try to grind into triple cream Don't get caught with the same scheme Meaning don't get caught with the same thing, King It's like you got to be bald Cuz hoes and niggaz wanna see you go far I think they mad when I ticks them off But I'm a hyena so I got to laugh and break some off The hot wax that's real fatal Sup'd up to perfection like a weapon on a turntable They say Gretta's got a new baretta And he'll be aiming his gat like a crooked letter, foreva I hit the night like stormy weather And if you brag about your freak, i'mma say mine's way better I rotate like the hands of a clock And find ways to make my rap beat all on your block You better knock on the door tiga And lay them all on the floor tiga Cuz I think they want more tiga I blow 'em out like a flat tire And hit the weed for Richard Pryor Then call 'em all straight liars The corks in me like the tail of a fox So get the grease hot, nigga Or your tigaz'll be caugh Aus Songtexte Mania