[Intro]

Hah...Yeah

[Verse One]

Now let's get down to business, bitches
'Cause it seems like y'all just keep on trying to diss this
N***a that you know that's been down for years
I've clowned for years, but y'all could never fade my peers
One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Nine, Ten
Eiht you can't win
'Cause all the way around, N***a I gets respect
And You's a n***a that can't even get no props in your set
Tragniew Park, ya say, huh?
Wanna be rippin', but now it's time to do some set-trippin'
So listen close, 'cause I don't want y'all to miss
That I'm about to break it down for this bitch, check it
Acacia, Poplar Maple Spruce Cedar Elm
West side trees sprayin' all the fleas
That's from the three and four hundred block P-Funk riders
So be don't slippin' at that center divider
Now Aaron Tyler, tell me why you seem so tame
When I caught you at the airport, shakin' like a crap game
You looked up and you seen my n***as comin'
And you looked like your bitch ass was 'bout to start runnin'
But all I wanted to do was kick a little conversation
And see if we can fix this little situation
But would I fuck you up was what you wondered
Yeah, that's probably why you gave me your fake pager number
But n***as like you don't grow
You can't even look me in my eye, let alone go toe to toe
And callin' me skinny, youse a clown
I'ma call you Theo, 'cause you weigh ninety-two point three pounds
Wack ass actor, movie script killer
Fool don't you know, Quik is still the n***a
Compton psycho, boy you oughta quit
Your records don't hit, and bitches don't jock your shit
You need to stay down you Compton clown
And get off of the nuts of the n***as with guts
Because I'm down with the Trees, I'm down with Death Row
I'm down with Black Tone, and I'm down with the fo'
So when we cross paths and I hope that's soon
I'ma boot your motherfuckin' ass to the moon
You need to quit bangin' under false pretense
'Cause if don't make dollars, it don't make sense
[Chorus]

If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense
So don't kill game, let the pimpin' commence
If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense
So don't kill game, let the people, commence
If it doesn't make dollars, it don't make sense
So don't kill game, let the pimpin' commence
If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense
Because you gotta give it up to the crown prince

[Verse Two]

Now I'ma swing it to the right and, right into the left hand
Take a deep breath and, cook it like a chef and
This is dedicated to the C-P-T
No better yet T-T-P, or the n***as that look up to me
I make it my business, to be that true forever
And whenever I can come clever well that's my endeavor
So whether or not you understand, that there's only one DJ Q-U-I-K
With no see still you can't be me
Because I'm floatin' in my Lex and, depositin' fat checks and
Getting mad sex while I floss the NSX and
Doin' what I wanna, and youse a goner n***a
For thinkin' that you can catch me slippin' on a street corner
Remember Compton's N Tha House, and Quik is in the hood
Sippin' yak with all my n***as 'cause it's tooted good
So don't knock it till you try it, 'cause Eiht he tried to knock it
But he's still walkin' round with my nuts in his pocket
So put tha P in it represent and sip that Miller
And for those of y'all concerned, this is still Eiht Killa
Let me take a load off my scrotum little pest
If it don't make dollars n***a, you know the rest
[Chorus]

If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense
So don't kill game, let the pimpin' commence
If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense
So don't kill game, let the people, commence
If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense
So don't kill game, let the pimpin' commence
If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense
Because you gotta give it up to the crown prince

[Outro]

Shouts goes out to my money-hustlin' ass combrads
Wassup Big Suge?
And the Deathrow Family, My N***a 2nd II None
Most definitely in this muthafucka forever
'Cause y'all don't understand, my n***a Big J
My little n***a DJ Rogers, and we gon' keep this short and sweet
I'm out