(Yeah, yeah) 1998, Life's great (Uh) TM what up? Taylor Gang business Gold Daytona's with the navy face Serenade your lady with the baby face Pillow talking nigga's they be spewing hate Smoking buddha with my shotta doing crazy eights Last call for alcohol, got your bitch with me Harlem nights, shake the dice, watch me get jiggy Gangsta attitude, I don't get friendly The plug said the price, told em' get with me I'm just celebrating life, get my drink on Frank Lucas without the rat and the mink on All about a dollar, hope you got my message Funny-style nigga's never be in my presence Promote myself, Don King with the palm trees Get you touched like paws, I got a long reach Shitty foreign language speaking in these satin sheets If it ain't money we'll be talking about, I barely speak Cruch ice, red-eye flights, I'm overnight All my boys from the hood, you nigga's overhype Williams, ladies feel em' because he dress nice Cocaine bright white, shades dim the light Big woods, the marshals on me like (dergood) Got some money stashed in the cut, case' it don't go good The highest, that slick talk gon' slip by us And we ain't worry about what you thinking, your bitch eying (For real) For every user, there is a danger of a bad trip on the drug (yeah yeah) Where sensory distortion becomes terrifying, and the acid head (Ah) may leap from a window or run widely through traffic There is a steady flow in the San Fransico hospitals of young people who have freaked out, have been picked up by the police in a state of desperate care (Back like a four in a half, still got more in the stash) (Word) Where are my parents? Do my friends know I'm here? Where am I? Where are we- Come here