Ice Cube

Ice Cube - Hundred Dollar Bill Y'all lyrics

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Get numbers, get names

Thick dames

Headhunters get brains

Big thangs

Give niggas shitstains

The shit, man

And don't you forget, man.



We be

The best of CG

Greedy

Abduct the PD

See me?

Nigga, not in 3D.

Be me?

Hah, it's not easy.

I'm breezy

And off the Heezy

Me and my woman's like George & Wheezy

Movin' on up, niggas use to tease me

See me on top

It makes you queasy.

Sick with it

Bitch, I'm Bruce Lee

Seduce me

You're nice and juicy

In the parking lot, I gots to get mine

Why the fuck we goin' in when there's bitches in line?

I spend my time watchin' bitches' behinds

Thinkin' bad shit in the back of my mind

I bump and grind with nothing less than a dime

Making movie money, you still investin' in rhymes.



[Chorus]

And I'm in this bitch

With a hundred dollar bill, y'all

About to spend this bitch

I'm in this bitch

I got a hundred dollar bill, y'all

About to spend this bitch

I'm in this bitch

Who got a hundred dollar bill, y'all?

About to spend this bitch

I'm in this bitch

I got a hundred dollar bill, y'all

About to spend this bitch.



I'm in here

Got all you freaks lookin'

When we walk by, pussy start cookin'

Rookies start tookin'

Get your ass up, V.I.P. section's gettin' tooken

Might dance, might not

might spend enough

Cool as hell, but still pipin' hot

Soon as I find a spot

All my people gather 'round

The nigga with the shiny watch--me

Ice Cube, motherfucker

Next to me, you a test tube motherfucker

We kinda rude, motherfucker

Get too close and bucka!  Bucka!  Bucka!

Don't want no problems, y'all

Fuck around, I'll pull out the problem-solv'

and watch E pills dissolve

nine times out of ten, you hoes involved.



[Chorus]



Get numbers, get names

Thick dames

Headhunters get brains

Big thangs

Give niggas shitstains

The shit, man

And don't you forget, man.



Security pat downs

I'm a star, motherfucker

I been put' the gat down

I been put' the mack down

But check the people that I'm with

'Cause they'll lay you flat down

And they'll do it right now

Yeah, you scared of the phone numbers that a nigga might dial

Club-hop, car shows, picnics

Big cars, big jewels, big dicks

Rush doors

Or gotta hop the fence

Blow this door

Gotta blow my rent

Gotta show my ass, then go repent

Gotta call in sick

And tell 'em where I went.



[Chorus]
Get this song at:
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amazon.com

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Author: ?

Composer: ?

Publisher: ?

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Language: English

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