Ghetto Symphony (Feat. Mia X, Fiend, C-Murder, Silkk The Shocker, Mystikal And Goldie Loc) - Snoop Dogg, Goldie Loc, Silkk The Shocker

Yo nephew, give me some of that No Limit shit

Yeah.

we got my ni*ga Fiend in the house

C-Murder in this motherf*cker

Mystikal all up in this b*tch

Goldie Loc, hm-hmm

My nephew Silkk the Shocker

Oh yeah, we got somethin for the ladies too

Mia X, run this b*tch

Lyrical arsonist, lady alligator

Down South, hustler, former weight smuggler

I’m Mother, of the Tank, gave birth to an army

Guerilla millionaires, so don’t even ask, if you wanna

Get to clappin, soldier action specialty of style

We made the whole world respect the underground while

some of y’all nig*az talk sh*t and get mad

Cause we did it with a foot up your a*s, and it’s still there

I cares not about your click or the block

I’m still that same b*tch to run up in your spot and knock you off

Broad, with the cause (yeah) b*tch on a mission

Keep them nig*az by they nuts while you hoes be d*ck kissin

Missin the game, damn b*tch it’s written in plain ebonics

So shake that come-up off you brain and do the knowledge

Mia X, kickin off the ghetto symphony

Next soldier up, tell em who the F*CK you be

WHUT?

It’s Fiend y’all

Put me in the ring with real MC’s, and watch em run for cover

And hidin in trees, to escape the mic that I breathe on

Bleed on, exceed on!

Weak rappers with titles after twelve

Hit a bell that’s what I’ll feed on!

Microphone Don, walkin flesh, talkin bomb

Bringin harm, to the calm, and, them be alarmed

It’s the African, oh, you wanna battle again?

I’ll turn, you and your mans, to my yesterday plans

Oh damn, totin two pistols like Yosemite Sam

Old man be grand, loud as the Southern band

Pickups and caravans, the soldier, that could, that can

I would be the man, but Dogg beat me to them plans

Next up, on the M-I-C

C-Murder, get busy for the symphony

I be’s that ni*ga on the tank, always trippin never slippin

Have you reminiscin and missin, that fool in your picture

Call me Bossalinie B*TCH without the Mo’s at shows

And F*CK dose who oppose (why?) we runnin them hoes

three-hundred and sixty-five motherf*ckin days a year

I have your fool staggerin just like a bottle of beer

You ni*gaz runnin from the cops, well I ain’t runnin no mo'

I flip the bird when I swerve, man, F*CK them hoes

I’m crazy my nag*a, but uh, I thought y’all knew that, sh*t

Oh you ain’t see the news?

Sh*t I’m the nig*a with the TRU tat

Ask my nig*a Keno, sh*t, I just don’t give a f*ck

And if you run up wrong, I’ma f*ck you up, you b*tch you

Next up, on the M-I-C

Silkk the Shocker get busy on the symphony

Now would I COME THIS FAR F*CKER?

If I didn’t sound like a hit

Y’all didn’t know what the f*ck y’all thinkin bout

You sound like a b*tch (beotch!)

Sh*t it sound like a wish, you know when you got a motherf*ckin hit

B*tch?

When it sound like this!

Or you fake niggaz get enough heart, and try to bust a

Rhyme at this click

F*ck around and miss, then f*ck around and get

Found in a ditch

Gotta labels give me dough, when they find I can, gross this much

Freestyle sh*t, you can tell em I ain’t, wrote this stuff

Silkk the Shocker, KLC perv and mash like, Snoop and Dre ni*ga

Y’all can relate to get a contract like, MJ ni*ga

Nigga where you from?

You sweata, F*CK YOU AT?

N-O-L-I-M-I-T, Top Dogg, and I’m F*CKIN with that

Next up, on the M-I-C

Mystikal get busy on the symphony

WHOO SHIT MOTHERF*CKER GOD DAMN!

I keep it HYYYYYYPE, BITCH I’M THE MAN!

When the F*CK you ever heard somebody say that they don’t say my song

Or that I don’t roll on every f*ckin person RAPPIN ON

(That ni*ga Mystikal tighter than a muh’f*cker) HAHHHHH?

I came up off of _Peter Piper_ bells and the LL’s Bad

Nee ni*ga to be pissed off with me

cause their old lady they call me their baby

MC’s pilin up and crowdin up, but I’m their FAVORITE

The type to fly buyin a Z-28 IROC

And chop you in your motherf*ckin face (HIII-YAH)

Your album ain’t tite, WHAT IN THE F*CK IS YOU PUSHIN?

You played out just like old woman pu*sy

Next up, on the M-I-C

Goldie Loc, get busy on the symphony

Now watch me put these haters to the test, accumulatin with my stress

Fold em f*ck em fifty, get the shit up off my chest

Releasin anger, all natural gangsta energy

Goldie Loc the name, Dogg House game

Motherf*ckers better start backin up (whattup whattup)

We in the Tank punk busters, motherfuckers don’t wanna see us loc’d up

Little Goldie Loc, Goldie Locks the same thang

Smashin for the hood, cause I wanted to gangbang

Last up, I believe that’s me

Snoop Dogg, light up the mic for the symphony

This jam is dedicated to all non-optimistics

That thought I wasn’t comin, out with some exquisite, rhymes

But that’s OK, cause now I’m back

To kill all the rumors, and straighten the facts

Like umm, doin bad, gettin ganked for my bank

Now you all on my d*ck when you see I’m TRU Tank Dogg

You say, «Mmmm mmm mmm!

Ain’t that somethin

Dogg I bought yo' album, my nig*a, that sh*t is bumpin

I apologize, I’m sorry for the drama

Can I get your autograph for my baby momma?»

Sh*t I’m settin it off, lettin it off, bustin

Hustlin, rushin, dustin motherf*ckers

Droppin the heat, lock up the street, we 'posed to

I put this pistol in your mouth, now what you gon' do?

Top of the line, first class

I pop a cap in yo' a*s, then pop some more in the glass

Too legit to quit, I’m spittin gangsta sh*t

Man f*ck all that yappin, we bout that gun clappin

No Limit, yeah, that’s what’s happenin

F*ck all that yappin, we bout that gun clappin yeah

In the real world, talk is cheap

Actions speak louder than words

No Limit Records, here to protect and serve

Yo nephew, give me some of that No Limit shit

Yeah.

we got my ni*ga Fiend in the house

C-Murder in this motherf*cker

Mystikal all up in this b*tch

Goldie Loc, hm-hmm

My nephew Silkk the Shocker

Oh yeah, we got somethin for the ladies too

Mia X, run this b*tch

Lyrical arsonist, lady alligator

Down South, hustler, former weight smuggler

I’m Mother, of the Tank, gave birth to an army

Guerilla millionaires, so don’t even ask, if you wanna

Get to clappin, soldier action specialty of style

We made the whole world respect the underground while

some of y’all nig*az talk sh*t and get mad

Cause we did it with a foot up your a*s, and it’s still there

I cares not about your click or the block

I’m still that same b*tch to run up in your spot and knock you off

Broad, with the cause (yeah) b*tch on a mission

Keep them nig*az by they nuts while you hoes be d*ck kissin

Missin the game, damn b*tch it’s written in plain ebonics

So shake that come-up off you brain and do the knowledge

Mia X, kickin off the ghetto symphony

Next soldier up, tell em who the F*CK you be

WHUT?

It’s Fiend y’all

Put me in the ring with real MC’s, and watch em run for cover

And hidin in trees, to escape the mic that I breathe on

Bleed on, exceed on!

Weak rappers with titles after twelve

Hit a bell that’s what I’ll feed on!

Microphone Don, walkin flesh, talkin bomb

Bringin harm, to the calm, and, them be alarmed

It’s the African, oh, you wanna battle again?

I’ll turn, you and your mans, to my yesterday plans

Oh damn, totin two pistols like Yosemite Sam

Old man be grand, loud as the Southern band

Pickups and caravans, the soldier, that could, that can

I would be the man, but Dogg beat me to them plans

Next up, on the M-I-C

C-Murder, get busy for the symphony

I be’s that ni*ga on the tank, always trippin never slippin

Have you reminiscin and missin, that fool in your picture

Call me Bossalinie B*TCH without the Mo’s at shows

And F*CK dose who oppose (why?) we runnin them hoes

three-hundred and sixty-five motherf*ckin days a year

I have your fool staggerin just like a bottle of beer

You ni*gaz runnin from the cops, well I ain’t runnin no mo'

I flip the bird when I swerve, man, F*CK them hoes

I’m crazy my nag*a, but uh, I thought y’all knew that, sh*t

Oh you ain’t see the news?

Sh*t I’m the nig*a with the TRU tat

Ask my nig*a Keno, sh*t, I just don’t give a f*ck

And if you run up wrong, I’ma f*ck you up, you b*tch you

Next up, on the M-I-C

Silkk the Shocker get busy on the symphony

Now would I COME THIS FAR F*CKER?

If I didn’t sound like a hit

Y’all didn’t know what the f*ck y’all thinkin bout

You sound like a b*tch (beotch!)

Sh*t it sound like a wish, you know when you got a motherf*ckin hit

B*tch?

When it sound like this!

Or you fake niggaz get enough heart, and try to bust a

Rhyme at this click

F*ck around and miss, then f*ck around and get

Found in a ditch

Gotta labels give me dough, when they find I can, gross this much

Freestyle sh*t, you can tell em I ain’t, wrote this stuff

Silkk the Shocker, KLC perv and mash like, Snoop and Dre ni*ga

Y’all can relate to get a contract like, MJ ni*ga

Nigga where you from?

You sweata, F*CK YOU AT?

N-O-L-I-M-I-T, Top Dogg, and I’m F*CKIN with that

Next up, on the M-I-C

Mystikal get busy on the symphony

WHOO SHIT MOTHERF*CKER GOD DAMN!

I keep it HYYYYYYPE, BITCH I’M THE MAN!

When the F*CK you ever heard somebody say that they don’t say my song

Or that I don’t roll on every f*ckin person RAPPIN ON

(That ni*ga Mystikal tighter than a muh’f*cker) HAHHHHH?

I came up off of _Peter Piper_ bells and the LL’s Bad

Nee ni*ga to be pissed off with me

cause their old lady they call me their baby

MC’s pilin up and crowdin up, but I’m their FAVORITE

The type to fly buyin a Z-28 IROC

And chop you in your motherf*ckin face (HIII-YAH)

Your album ain’t tite, WHAT IN THE F*CK IS YOU PUSHIN?

You played out just like old woman pu*sy

Next up, on the M-I-C

Goldie Loc, get busy on the symphony

Now watch me put these haters to the test, accumulatin with my stress

Fold em f*ck em fifty, get the shit up off my chest

Releasin anger, all natural gangsta energy

Goldie Loc the name, Dogg House game

Motherf*ckers better start backin up (whattup whattup)

We in the Tank punk busters, motherfuckers don’t wanna see us loc’d up

Little Goldie Loc, Goldie Locks the same thang

Smashin for the hood, cause I wanted to gangbang

Last up, I believe that’s me

Snoop Dogg, light up the mic for the symphony

This jam is dedicated to all non-optimistics

That thought I wasn’t comin, out with some exquisite, rhymes

But that’s OK, cause now I’m back

To kill all the rumors, and straighten the facts

Like umm, doin bad, gettin ganked for my bank

Now you all on my d*ck when you see I’m TRU Tank Dogg

You say, «Mmmm mmm mmm!

Ain’t that somethin

Dogg I bought yo' album, my nig*a, that sh*t is bumpin

I apologize, I’m sorry for the drama

Can I get your autograph for my baby momma?»

Sh*t I’m settin it off, lettin it off, bustin

Hustlin, rushin, dustin motherf*ckers

Droppin the heat, lock up the street, we 'posed to

I put this pistol in your mouth, now what you gon' do?

Top of the line, first class

I pop a cap in yo' a*s, then pop some more in the glass

Too legit to quit, I’m spittin gangsta sh*t

Man f*ck all that yappin, we bout that gun clappin

No Limit, yeah, that’s what’s happenin

F*ck all that yappin, we bout that gun clappin yeah

In the real world, talk is cheap

Actions speak louder than words

No Limit Records, here to protect and serve