Big D The Impossible - Point the Finga lyrics

"You could get the finger.. the middle!" {​*1}​ "Come and get some!" {​*2}​ [2Pac] Ahh yeah, they love to point the finger {​*1}​ {​*2}​ [Hook] Boom boom boom on your black a**, b**h You could get the finger...the middle! [X4] [2Pac] I thought I hit rock bottom, they ban my album, point the finga I guess nobody loves a real n***a-slash-rap singer I thought I'd bring a little truth to the young troops I brought proof that the n***as need guns too It's not to be a racist, but let's face this: Wouldn't you if we could trade places? I got lynched by some crooked cops, and to this day Them same motherf**ers on the beat gettin major paid But when I get my check they takin tax out So, we payin for these pigs to knock the blacks out Ain't that a b**h, some officers are gettin rich Whoopin on thugs and robbin drug dealers for they sh** As far as jealousy, bein a celebrity No matter who committed the crime, they all yell at me And the media is greedier than most You could sell em your soul or they'll be on ya til a n***as ghost And everyday I read the paper there's another lie They show my picture for the crimes of another guy Now how's that for the life of a big shot A dead cop, a law suit, a little kid shot I play them nuttin a** marks in the park For tryin to earn they stripes in the dark Just cause I come there, don't mean I from there, peep: Only jealous motherf**ers beef, and point the finga [Hook] Boom boom boom on your black a**, b**h {​*1}​ {​*2}​ [2Pac] As I run up on em madman, a nutcase with a screw loose A zoot troupe full of foolies with toolies n***as run to me don't come to me with beef Take your j**els and your jeep, boom boom! Let that a** sleep It's gettin hectic, n***as run, quick Buckshots are the payback for dumb sh** All you n***as on the block tryin to test me Best wear a vest or get open like, sesame I'll run up on you mad deep; while you're tryin to sleep I'm steady pumpin bullets in your sheets Wake up, motherf**er, don't stutter Point blank by a n***a from the gutter, yeah! Gimme mine, gimme mine, gimme, mine Ban my rhymes, now I'm back to bustin, nines And bustaz can't get none, hell no A quick flurry and he's buried with a swelled jaw I came up from the amateurs to pro hits At 5-0, so you know I take no sh** And everybody wants to k** a bringer Of bad news, so they choose, to point the finga Chorus [2Pac] One two three, peace to the real G's Still me, til these motherf**ers k** me I bring sk**s and I build, k** at will Smoke sess til I'm ill, still feel me? I say one two three, peace to the real G's Still me, til these motherf**ers k** me Pick it up, pick it up, give it up Best to duck or get f**ed for your bucks Scream one two three, peace to the real G's Still me, til these motherf**ers k** me I can't give up, it's a black thang And I ain't goin back to the crack game (You can do it son; be a man and stand up or run) b**hes, let em point the finga (You can do it son; be a man and stand up or run) Snitches, let em point the finga Yo, one two three, peace to the real G's Still me, til these motherf**ers k** me I guess nobody loves a rap singer That's why these motherf**ers.. (hahaha!) point the finga Boom boom boom on your black a**, b**h! You could get the finga! the middle! [X11]