Songtext:
Chorus: master p (repeat 2x) Magnetfolien
Here we go, here we go, here we go (be bout yo business) From the south, to the west, to the mid, to the east coast
Verse one: master p
I got heroin and cocaine Some call me the dope man, a young nigga havin thangs A thug like tupac Went from cheddar to cheese, from powder to cooked rocks From the ghetto to the lakes (to the lakes, 3rd ward, caliope) Slangin' thangs in the hood to move my records to 54 states Got more work than the mayor do (mayor do) It stick to niggas that talk shit Like a baller they bitch hair blue Got more corns than fritos Got more hoe's than macys sell muthafuckin girbauds Keep the muthafuckin party jumpin (uhh, bout it, bout it) For puttin the south on the map like eazy-e did compton Hoo-ride with these gangbangers (gangbangers) No limit soldiers, mercenary killas keep one up in the chamber _got it made_ like special ed Got more _vapors_ than bizmarkie ever had After _dead presidents_ like eric b. _hypnotize_ the rap industry like biggie Going _federal_ like e-40 Shock the world like silkk, put my pockets on tilt Puttin fools _on hold_ like en vogue Used to slang white ice cream, now its platinum and golds
Chorus 2x
Verse two: mystikal
Without no business Its over for you before you get out the door What the fuck they gon tell you for if you don't already know Huh nigga thats all on you to be on top of yearn But by the time they finish fuckin you, bitch you gon learn Ain't no fuckin favors, ain't no fuckin friends That shit don't mix, this business Be bout yo paper, yo royalties or them bitches will take ya Make sure yo contract is escilatin' otherwise them bitches will rape ya Makin big promises on how it's gonna be all good just and be patient Yo album done came and gone and you stupid ass still waitin Stackin paper off my work Them no good son of a bitches got me livin for concerts I done headlined every hole in the wall in and out the city Humble cause i'm gonna believe it was meant for me I'ma get it, makin moves but still somethin missin Fuck how good you rap it ain't shit without yo business No business
Chorus 2x
Verse three: fiend
I could end the world with one line But i chose to make these hoes suffer Fill the voice with no muffler, i's a bad motherfucker Uncover, unleash the beast, dangerous from head to feet Can't control my rhymes, because them bitches seep through My teeth, so cold i heats, rising like some yeast, bake some beats Meltin needers off of technique and thats just when i speak Seek and you should find that my mind is beyond And yall niggas lines behind the times of my first lines Shit i'm in my prime, i want it with the mic or the nine For mine it protects crimes to the blind (he ain't lying) And i ain't dying line goes the paper the chase P done gave me the break for me to make some cake Still dope i cook in sake, got pretty ass hoes to bake Thats definitely a dumb nigga lure, you wanna smoke Cause this business makin me a weed conniseur Meet the have-been, one of the last men on this note Who wanna get served by the nigga, the nerve at the throat You think you bad but bitch you never had A nigga to give more heart attacks than fred sanford had
Chorus till fade
(master p talking) To the motherfuckin south (the south) To the west (to the west) To the mid (to the mid) To the motherfuckin east (to the east) To the world (to the motherfuckin world) No limit, here i come whenever we want to September 2nd, get the fuckin world high Bout my motherfuckin business, ha ha, Master p, young fiend and mystikal Uungh!, bout it bout it
