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letra de ask yourself a question (bonus cut) - dr. dre

featuring dr. dre

kurupt:
check it out
here’s a penny for your thoughts a nicklebag of bliss
an m 16 with eighteen clips
i’m all set to bust treacherous
ill-strious homie don’t question us

just ask yourself the question
how many hoes can i f-ck in one night?
just ask yourself the question n-gg-
how many n-gg-z can i blast on sight?

i’m ferocious and you knows this n-gg-
b-tches wear skirts, shake -ss and b-mp
i pop pistols, that’s all i do
i pop one at him and pop two at you
i’m illusive, i’ma glock it
pistol popping activist with the key to the bucket
i rip your pockets of the side of your pants
you glare to the side and you glance, i’m in my (?)
how the f-ck you make it this far?
no matter where you at, or who you are
people treat me like kareem abdul jabbar
i hear ooh’s and aah’s when i jumps in my car
just from last night you can tell
that i’m addicted to the fast life
shouts out to my homeboys mad and quell
you go on and f-ck misty, while i f-ck mich-lle

chorus:
just ask yourself the question
how many hoes can i f-ck in one night?
just ask yourself the question
how many n-gg-z can i blast on sight?
just ask yourself the question
is it cool to ride, or is it cool to f-ck?
just ask yourself the question
i don’t know why these motherf-ckers wanna f-ck with us

what you wanna do, penetrate me?
bump my crib? bust and f-ck my b-tch, n-gg-?
i never thought a n-gg- would trip
off a little piece of -ss that he know he could get
any day (any day) and any time (any time)
you’se a vegetarian (what?), i like beef, turkey and pork
fish and chips, chips and dip
f-ck it, hand me my knife and my fork
i’m not too picky n-gg-, kurupt young gotti
a.k.a. low ricky n-gg- (what up momma?)
substantialar, tyrannosaurus, gigantic t-tanic tarantula.
on a creep homie, wake up
don’t sleep homie, supposed to know it
look, i’m hazardous to health, n-gg-, b-tch, n-gg-
don’t ask me sh-t ’till you ask yourself

chorus (dre)

dre:
what the f-ck is up? man life’s a b-tch
you gotta put your pistol to the sky,
kill a million motherf-ckers and get high in order to be cool
man, you’se a motherf-cking fool (speak to these n-gg-z)
i thought the same way, back in the days
young, with a lack on daily things
never thought too much, homie, never trip
i got drunk as f-ck, the homies blaze sticks
look out for them n-gg-z out to get you
so (?) forgetting to tank your pistol with you (your pistol n-gg-)
n-gg-z get swallowed in the game
i c-ck and bust hollows to peer, duck and frame
yo n-gg-, that sh-t sounds like i did it
don’t blaze the (?) without the (?)
n-gg-z look like they’re doped up like tired b-tches
with the eyes wide gone you spit the hard boom
wiping sh-t the f-ck out like typhoons
with the little homeboys, t-bone and cartoons
motherf-cker don’t ask me for sh-t
f-ck everything you believe in, little b-tch

chorus

kurupt:
what, what?

- dr dre

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