[Intro: Ant Banks]
Ohh yeah, Oakland and Compton in the house
Where the real riders ride
And all the bitch-ass-niggas fall by the wayside
Cities with no mourn for motherfucking haters and snitches
Cause somebody told me it was all about money over bitches
[Verse 1: MC Ren]
These Record companies, they full of dykes like Da Brat
Most bitches got AIDS; nigga, better use a hat
All these niggas’ record deals, they tax write-offs
I can’t help these bitches, try to fuck I try to fight ’em off
Got a heaven for a gangsters like the nigga Master P
Where niggas trip, judge your bitches bring that ass to me
These Ren hate niggas, got their contracts renewed
Most niggas in the game they bit The Chronic they should get sued
By my nigga Dre and Snoop for a while
Nigga, Ren everywhere, like Puffy and God
I’m still that black nigga, my dick got bigger
But ain’t you bitches tired of rapping about Glock triggers
And Chronic, see that be them whack niggas yellin’
That “Gangsta Gangsta” shit still ain’t sellin’
Nigga who you tellin’? I’m the motherfucking shit
Ren and Banks with another hit, ugh, ugh!
[Chorus: MC Ren]
Niggas all the same (All the same)
There’s no money make us happy with the fame (with the fame)
Nigga, I’ll be checking out the game (out the game)
Fuck that, all you bitches know my name (what’s my name)
Ugh, these niggas all the same (all the same)
There’s no money make us happy with the fame (with the fame)
Nigga, I’ll be checking out the game (all the game)
Fuck that, all you bitches know my name (what’s my motherfucking name)
[Verse 2: MC Ren]
Every nigga in the game, is the same like OGs
Broke niggas getting signed to these junkie companies “ugh”
Niggas beefing without their niggas, shit don’t be making sense
All these motherfuckers lucky if they’re getting fifty cents
Everytime the record sales, you must be breeze up your tales
There’s some fucking going on, nigga tell me I ain’t wrong
Where the players that he at nigga? they’re too old to rhyme
There’s white motherfuckers wear suits counting every dime
They give your ass on tour, a big home, a big house
And a hive full of cheese so you can be acting like a mouse
I’ll give about five years, nigga, you’ll be broke
Fucking fat bitches with a gang of stress to smoke
Not enough to choke, you’re full of “should have could have would have”
With ass kissing niggas, taking from your bank figures
Now you’re stuck on stupid, cause you believed that hype
Said fuck it when broke, you and your bitch hit the pipe
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