|
|
(lady talking)
|
No matter how advanced medical technology becomes
|
many people still believe in the ancient healing arts
|
*fades out*
|
|
Verse 1:
|
I had a dream I came up on a key
|
Busted it down, nic'ed it all up and brought back forty G'z
|
We put a big trap on the map
|
Talkin' in code in case "twelve" got the phones tapped
|
We got down wit niggas wit all types of skills
|
From gun runnin', cookin' dope, stolen wheels
|
That cheese was comin' in wit a grin
|
We all up in the club, straight to spend
|
And 'bout a hundred sippin' Mo'
|
Didn't know that cooked swine tasted that same but just cost more dollars
|
Let my nigga's ride my Impala
|
Let's see if these hoes gone choose me
|
Without thinkin about dollars
|
Had a dream them keys cost a half a mil.
|
Moved away, found a bitch and a crib
|
Now I feel like God, talkin like a man whose face had the scar
|
Ugh, We all know who you are
|
If I only had twelve dollars i'd still feel like a star
|
I tried to stay up in my bankin', listen close to this dream
|
Dont run off and smoke no dank-in
|
I dont use cocaine but in this dream I was totin'
|
Got ta' scrappin' at the club and went ta' shootin'
|
Blood runnin down my nose, caught that nigga who swung on me
|
Pointed my gun and he froze, He said: (it wasnt me, it wasnt me!!!)
|
Ugh, It was you, pulled the trigger he was through
|
|
(chorus)
|
Sahore, Sahore Sahore, Feel the doctor cure-ure-ure
|
(Feel the doctor cure)
|
Sahore, Sahore, Sahore, Fell the doctor cure-ure-ure-ure-ure-ure-ure
|
|
Verse 2:
|
Months later got rid of that bitch
|
But she wasn't no crook, got rid of her cause she couldn't fuckin cook
|
I'm from the south so you know I cuss a hoe out
|
I had to tell another hoe to straight roll out
|
My outlook on female burned that summer
|
Thought every bitch was a hoe but my momma
|
The dope game got strange within seconds
|
And as the third day, done ran off wit my other package
|
I gotta do him when I see him,
|
Aint gone ask no questions, just gone draw out and bust it
|
And wit this sixteen shot Baretta
|
Wit my initials E.J. ingraved in big ol' muthafuckin letters
|
Learn, you can have money and not be at peace wit yo' self
|
Now-a-dayz you gotta watch every muthafuckin' step
|
Every move is costly, see in this drug game any muthafucka out here can croos
|
me
|
I told myself I gotta retire wit this eighty G stash
|
But I had a lust for makin' cash
|
A lil bit more then what I need, I think they call that shit greed, as I
|
proceed
|
I'm southern po' nigga, but in this dream I was a fiend for cash
|
Fancy clothes had my ass
|
Was my own clan gittin' shady? Buckets, Team , Buffy, do they wanna stuff me?
|
Livin' wit a gun, never livin' at ease, almost everybody 'round that street
|
sleez
|
You lucky if u make it out alive
|
Ask that nigga that been robbed before and didn't die
|
And that dream about them key, the police one day gone hollar freeze
|
|
(chorus)
|
|
Straight from the southwest S.W.A.T.s
|
Y'all niggas dont know what's in these, yeah
|
Collage, Collage Park, E-Pat
|
Like dis here, yeah (ahhh)
|
We gone do dis here like dis here wit it, yeah
|
|
|
|
-----------------
|
The Ancient Sahore
|
| Witchdoctor |
