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Absolutly Correct (Only notes will be sent) Mostly Correct, yet... The lyrics are wrong Very Wrong Not the lyrics to Gangsta Livin'
Severity is 5
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Lyric Body	I know 'Pac woulda loved this one here [Chorus: Trick Daddy] This gangsta livin, weavin dope dealin, oh how it's changed It's gettin strange, and dangerous, but that's the way shit goes [Trick Daddy] This nigga needs no introductions I'm on this book, and I'm stuck, I'm really the wrong one to fuck wit See T-Double known for startin problems but K-cutter be the problem solver, if I sell you a book nigga stick it Cause for every you check you slippin they can call me Flipper I only I missed a few niggaz (uh-huh) But he lost a couple more vis-a kidney and his liver Had to tell him mind me a nigga I was like uh-huh, click click, c'mere, don't run nigga All I wanna know is Where yo' connect, where the sack, where the money where the blow is I heard papi got them freighters Now either he gon', give 'em to me, or a nigga gon' take 'em The dope game's just too overrated And to tell y'all the truth a lot of y'all ain't gon' make it Done went from crack slingers to R&B singers Before the mic's on, you was already singin It's just a song was a big hit He named me and his bitch on the remix [sing] [Chorus - 2X] [Trick Daddy] And to hell with bein a man about it Shit they got fo' niggaz and one gun, fuck bein 21 Somebody better tell 'em And put him up on {?} somebody fuck around and kill him You see cause snitches get stitches And there ain't that much of a difference between tellin and snitchin And I ain't gon' keep on talkin to you niggaz I'm gon' walk right up to you niggaz and go off on you niggaz And I ain't leavin no witnesses And don't get drunk and confess to none of y'all misses See I know how to control my Hennessy I speak no ingles, play crazy like them Dominicans See cause poppa was a rolling stone He said, son get your gun, it's a war and it's on So y'all go on and bob your head to the song Throw up the 4's for the niggaz, that's dead and gone [Chorus - 2X] [Trick Daddy] I'm tired of smokin 'bama-ass weed Niggaz out there sellin backyard boogies full o' stems and seeds They whoopin the rocks and we compressin the coke They makin it hard for them {?} to smoke I went to jail tryin to get high; nigga told me to go to hell went and called him, told him come get me out So our father, who art in heaven It must be the devil cause somethin wrong with these niggaz Nope - and crazy ain't the word They say the stupid shit like Trick why don't you front a nigga a bird Fo' what, so you can smoke it up? Impress hoes, buy clothes, and make a nigga come fuck you up? The game hard on a player You coulda started with a block and now workin just for quarter fare With all the cards I sold the hoes left me all by myself And the game don't even care! [Chorus - 2X]
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