[Intro]
1999
Insomniac
It's the end of the world
The Ca-vi
Uh
I got Peeps Game, (P.G, hah)
I got Mr Short Chop
And my name is Mr. Kane
And we gone do this the West Coast way
But Peeps Game you 1st upto bat
Peep
[Verse 1: Peeps Game]
Some how this n***a thought
Them 8 x 10 inch drums
Gonna make me not wanna go home and err, post double own?
But I stopped being stupid at 17
Started having reoccurring dreams
Of incredible cream
I check the scenery
Cause all I wanna chat about is greenary
How to get {rid of it?}
Get a dead right end of it
Players it's my game
How many other n***as got claim
And important if you feeling my frame
To wear them sport, ah
I'm tring to make that switch to millionare
From ghetto rich
But I got these n***as who wanna see me fall
Up in my mix
Ain't nothing sacred
You break pumpers
Ya hate mongers, hah
A pile of sh** is what am stuck up under
But I won't fold
I hooks it up, grabs hoe's and roll
In a LX 4-5-0, while you stroll
My game will make a baller feel broke indeed
And make M.C abandoned s.h.i.p's in reeds
[Chorus]
Life is sometimes so f**ed up
Uh well am wrong, in 1999
And you'll never know where you'll end up
Yeah, in 1999
[Verse 2: Short Chop]
I drink a fifth and blame the session
Fingertips stained with resin of the doja?
n***as caution, haters beg your pardon
Probably find me in the cut at {he-ver bo-bon?}
With my squadron
Hate it cause he came up
Ran through and sold the game up
And tossed all these so called names up
With contacts, to leave you with blacked eyed contracts
Ha, you n***as ain't ready for this combat
The robbing, cheating
Or even take it to the mob
Creeping, squad, thieving
Come just try
But best to prepare when this young gun ride
Run duck hide
Want round, we can go some
Come round we can roll some
Still come heated by my lonesome
It's real there, left you cowards done deal there
n***a, it's raining bullets and i'm still there
[Chorus]
Life is sometimes so f**ed up
Uh, huh, in 1999
And you'll never know where you'll end up
In 1999
[Verse 3: Kokane]
Uh
Who the hell claimed you n***as
Out of every spokesmen of these gangster hits
Fake rapping blood or crip
Now what
I'm still about my rotting socket
You n***as stay in the house
While O.G's pick cotton
Not to moan n***a
Cause im a crack the whip back
I'm gone do this till the D's fall off
And the eagle hub caps
Battlecat laced me with some dope tracks
Now i got the whole entire industry upon my nut sack
I went to ghetto {jack'a'lane?}
To push rhymes like weight
Can't live without my weekly [?] (yeah, yeah)
{fire up?} my 600 it's to blow trees and don't care
You n***as pockets be like bad news bears
Uh, yeah, i'm taking out all rookies
So forget oreo's and get your kokane cookies
n***a, get your kokane cookies
I represent the west coast, now
[Chorus]
Life is sometimes so f**ed up
That's real/wooh, in 1999
And you'll never know where you'll end up
(get yo' paper)
In 1999