Catch 22

[DJ Quik]

Ain't nothin like poppin the brains on a Corvette

With your pet in the passenger seat

Ass at your feet, askin if you can pass her the weed

(Faster please) California masterpiece

Recorded partially in New York

With a blue spark on a purple plant and I worked your aunt

(She loved it) primarily under the circumstance

Don't be mad, I was bad, she was better, sweaty palms

But I bet her and she told your moms and wrote a letter

Now they comin back to get off of the curb

because I swerved on her (beat it bitch!)

I ain't never been shit, that's what my mommy said

Now they callin to check to see if I took the gun from under my bed

She don't trust me, I don't trust me, my psychiatrist don't trust me

And I ain't called 'em back, I hope the cops don't come and bust me

I'm feelin lusty and my purple video tape is trusty

But I can't go to sleep with lotion on because I might get musty

I ride motorcycles and crash 'em on purpose

into a crowd of bystanders so my insurance policy won't be worthless

[Chorus]

Now quit that bitch shit, we gon' fuck you up mayne

We gon' fuck you up mayne, now get the fuck outta Dodge

It ain't gon' work mayne, we gon' fuck you up mayne

We gon' fuck you up mayne, don't make me pull the pump out the garage

And posse up mayne, we gon' fuck you up mayne

We gon' fuck you up mayne, you must be high on that sherm

But you gon' learn mayne, we gon' fuck you up mayne

We gon' fuck you up - WE GON' FUCK YOU UP!

[DJ Quik]

Bridget Bridget Bridget was a girl that I knew

But she's a dumb hoe, and baldheaded like DJ Pooh

Her saggy body tried to crash the party like Mobb Deep

With her elephant feet

I got a whole lot to say but it won't come out

Probably because I got this 38 in my mouth

And I'm pissed, I'm 'bout to nut up, fuck you nigga shut up

Like Mausberg, I'll leave your chest burnin on the curb

Hennessy to XO, crashed in the Lex-o

I make the bridge flex 'til these bitch niggaz let go

And I'm upset because I'm all alone

Homies don't play by the rules, fuck 'em then I'm glad they gone

Pluck 'em out the flowerpot, flush and make they shower hot

Blister and scour, I'm pistol-whippin with power, make 'em holla like chicks

Out in L.A. ain't nuttin good to talk about

Except dead homies, and how in '82 we had all the money

That's Freeway Rick and that C.I.A. shit

22 years later, it's just some ol' player hater shit

How many gangs can kill people under the age of 12

Get snitched on and go to jail, for another 22 years

And who gets recognized for pouring out the beer

And how many young blacks drink and smoke to cover they fear

It's fucked up

[Chorus]

[DJ Quik]

I made my momma a promise that I would make it home honest

She knew that there were no problems cause she could see right through it

She know I'm deeper than half of these niggaz, flyer than most of 'em

And that's as clear as you can see from off in your coast

And you niggaz don't understand these 16 bars from within

If being dope is an abomination then I am a sin

Cause I'm fly like the wind, and I'm high to the end

My enemies are my used-to-be friends, where do I begin

It's a sesspool of stress, you cowards drink from the well

Got no energy for haters, you suckers can't give me hell

Cause you whack and you stale, and you act like you bail

You talk that shit 'til you gotta prove shit, get smacked when you fail

In the midst of it all I'm just persistin to ball

While these haters tumble and stumble and bumble and fall

I'm the key to cut your meter off, I'll blow what you worth

And befo' anything else on this earth - YOU'LL GET FUCKED UP!

[Chorus]