Really Doe - Ice Cube

Ohh.

steppin up in my motherfuckin uhh.

Chuck Taylors, Knick kickers, Wallabee’s

On my ass I got the umm.

um.

khakis, 501's

On my back I got the uhh.

sweatshirt

You know, with the fat three creases

Uhh, my t-shirt, Slingshot, uhh.

khaki shirt

Umm, and I got the Cake cutter in my—in my pocket

Uhh, got the afro, the braids

Motherfuckin uhh, rollers

«You got to believe in somethin»

And I just ask my motherfuckin self, uhh

«Why not believe in me?»

To G or not to G, is the question

And like Smith told Wesson

I’m shady with the .380 old school diploma

I’ll leave that ass in a coma, so

If you got a herringbone, Welcome to the Terrordome

Two-eleven, sorry Reverend

Oh my god, gettin robbed

Reach for the smog, «Atomic Dog»

Hard to swallow, janky as Rollo

Count to ten, and don’t try to follow

Cause just like Waco, I can take fo'

ATF, to they death

Bust a left on Western, go and get a room

Don’t want to be a felon like Stacey Koon

Get the right bitch, hit the light switch, here we go

Tap that ass like this — really doe

«You got to believe, somethin.»

West Side Lynch Mob

«I got to believe in me.»

Cause I’m a motherfuckin G

Cause I’m a mother-fuckin.

(«And who the fuck are you?»)

Thirty in a holdin tank, catch the vapors

Make me a pillow out of toilet paper

Concrete bench kickin' off the hemorrhoids;

Eses deep, don’t fuck with dem boys

Phone check, collect call from the baller

Her mama said please don’t call her

Do-Wah-Diddy, far from New Jack City

Seen one of my peers, «What the fuck you doin in here?»

He said, «One-eighty-seven on the enemy

And they treat me like I just shot a Kennedy!»

Deputy bitch thinks she’s the Queen Bee

Ink on my thumb, index, and pinky

«Sir, what set you from?»

Play dumb

«General popu-la-tion»

Mama put your house up, and I can bounce up

Out this motherfucker, that’s why I love ya

Out like a boss, with a half-pint of sauce

Got the shit sewed up like Betsy Ross

What a friend know?

Buy some indo

Never fuck with a silly ho — really doe

«You got to believe, somethin.»

West Side Lynch Mob

«I got to believe in me.»

Cause I’m a motherfuckin G

Cause I’m a mother-fuckin.

(«And who the fuck are you?»)

Knock you out like NyQuil, I’ll kill you quick

You sucker-for-love-ass trick

So don’t run up, wit ya gun up

Cause I got the back breaker, double pump rump shaker

Cause we can play hookie in the Aqua Boogie

With concrete Nikes, ya gets no stripes

Livin unforgiven with the mic on

And punks runnin like roaches with the light on

And that’s all the shit I’m startin

Bust a cap (ka-kow-POW) like Jerome on Martin

You lookin for a punk with benefits

Cause you got a baby, that take many shits

And you know I got a grip like a baby on a tit

Scopin', hopin', thighs open

But I kick back, six-pack, and hit the Phillie slow

Hooker ho — really doe

«You got to believe, somethin.»

West Side Lynch Mob

«I got to believe in me.»

Cause I’m a motherfuckin G

Cause I’m a mother-fuckin.

(«And who the fuck are you?»)

«You got to believe, somethin.»

West Side Lynch Mob

«I got to believe in me.»

Cause I’m a motherfuckin G

Cause I’m a mother-fuckin.

(«And who the fuck are you?»)