Ain't No Doubt

[DJ Quik] Now if you're pimpin' and you know it clap your hands... If you're pimpin' and you know it clap your hands... Now if you're pimpin' and you know it clap your hands... If you're pimpin' and you know it clap your hands... [Playa Hamm] Now the spot is poppin', it's time to blaze Everybody's takin' one to the head like in the old days Me and Mausbeezy keepin' heat to yo' neck Bank on a chin check if you ain't comin' correct Now, I'm not the violent type, but I will Push what I push to keep my cup filled Mr. Quik and P-Clique with big deals to fold Long dick, the wrong niggas to be keepin' on hold So fuck what ya thought and I won't curse many I only do to get my point across if any The good-n-plenty got me dealin' with the bad sometimes Lookin' forward to what I never had sometimes Now I gotta get a game up, only when I see fit Cause a grip of niggas didn't wanna see me with shit But I can't stop, won't stop, don't know how The things that I'm wantin' for my seed won't allow me To slow my role, but I do relax Got a hunnie with bomb poo', big giddies and back I'm on the road with macks, prone to mack for the most Standout from the crowd everywhere we post I be the host when the players ball at the mack affair And if you're real with the izm I'ma see you there Anybody lookin' for me, I ain't hard to find Hate the P but you gotta love the way we grind [Chorus: DJ Quik] Ain't no doubt, that's what it's about The paper, pull a caper, get a drape and we out Gotta keep it like we wanna, ain't no need to explain And it's your fault baby if it's causin' you pain [Mausberg] Puffin' on a Black & Mild, with a bottle and neck tall Imperi-al, intoxicated so you feel me now Some player shit for my niggas and bitches A trademark for my riders on them switches Clap your hands if you pimpin' and know it And if you got some herb dogg roll it and blow it The West Coast is the home of pimps, players and G's And if you down, with The Realest, follow me To the land where them riders dwell, can I get that pound-pound? Who be the realest? Mausberg and Playa Hamm, damn We be the bomb, as well as the shit And niggas can't knock my grind when I'm rollin' with Quik I push the Dip with the Da, dogg I'm way too suave To let a broad interfere my chips, nah nah You doin' three much, my shit is in Swiss and can't be touched Buck the federal and watch them eat you out Take yo' ass on journey, ain't no learnin' me I'm from the streets and if you gettin' too nosey it's gon' hurts me Gotta cut you loose, baby but not with the boot I'll leave yo' ass on the curb with fifty cent for the phone booth I got that game from the P.P.C I let it soak cause I was knowin' Playa Hamm was a G 1999 is my time to shine And you gotta love the way me and my whole click grind [Chorus: DJ Quik] Ain't no doubt, that's what it's about The paper, pull a caper, get a drape and we out Gotta keep it like we wanna, ain't no need to explain And it's your fault baby if it's causin' you pain [Playa Hamm] Now let me holler at you hoes who keep blowin' me up Cause you see me in the E-Class throwin' P's up Don't wonder was it mine, you gon' see me in it Do it matter to you, if I bought it or I rented? So now I'm, livin' kinda splendid from your view And stayin' out of trouble ain't so easy to do Cause you wanna ride D and you got that ace That make it hard for a playa like me to pace Still I must though, trust no, though you be sayin' All you wanna do is be my toy when I'm playin' And you won't tell, if I won't tell So now you wanna sin, if I got the cell Well baby, before you carry this too far Do you want me or do you wanna "Fuck My Car" Now I ain't Too $hort and I ain't too rich And I ain't too fly to break a hoe and make change Now which, way do I go, when I'm lowin' You'll probably see me later if you didn't see me blowin' Chron' with ghetto dons, hittin' switches on gold With Platinum on the walls, more young bitches to mold No offense, but if I, do offend you I don't apologize and I don't pretend to Be possessin' nothin' more than finessin' when I'm flowin' Fuck the critics and the politics, oh you ain't knowin'? [Chorus: DJ Quik] Ain't no doubt, that's what it's about The paper, pull a caper, get a drape and we out Gotta keep it like we wanna, ain't no need to explain And it's your fault baby if it's causin' you pain