1999

[Intro]
1999
Insomniac
It's the end of the world
The Ca-vi
Uh
I got Peeps Game, (P.G, hah)
I got Mr Short Khop
And my name is Mr. Kane
And we gone do this the West Coast way
But Peeps Game you first up to bat
Peep

[Verse 1: Peeps Game]
Some how this nigga thought them 8 x 10 inch drums
Gonna make me not wanna go home and, err, post double own?
But I stopped being stupid at 17
Started having reoccurring dreams of incredible cream
I check the scenery
Cause all I wanna chat about is greenery
How to get {rid of it?}
Get a dead right end of it
Players it's my game
How many other niggas got claim
And important if you feeling my frame
To wear them sport, ah
I'm tring to make that switch to millionare from ghetto rich
But I got these niggas who wanna see me fall up in my mix
Ain't nothing sacred
You break pumpers
Ya hate mongers, hah
A pile of shit is what I'm stuck up under
But I won't fold
I hooks it up, grabs hoes and roll
In a L-X-4-5-0, while you stroll
My game will make a baller feel broke indeed
And make M.C.s abandoned s.h.i.p's in reeds

[Chorus]
Life is sometimes so fucked up
Uh, well alright
In 1999
And you'll never know where you'll end up
Yeah
In 1999

[Verse 2: Short Chop]
I drink a fifth and blame the session
Fingertips stained with resin of the doja
Niggas caution
Haters beg your pardon
Probably find me in the cut at {he-ver bo-bon?}
With my squadron
Hate it cause he came up
Ran through and sold the game up
And tossed all these so called names up with contacts
To leave you with blacked eyed contracts, ha
You niggas ain't ready for this combat
The robbing, cheating
Or even take it to the mob
Creeping, squad, thieving
Come just try
But best to prepare when this young gun ride
Run duck hide
Want round, we can go some
Come round we can roll some
Still come heated by my lonesome
It's real there
Left you cowards done deal there
Nigga, it's raining bullets and i'm still there

[Chorus]
Life is sometimes so fucked up
Uh, huh
In 1999
And you'll never know where you'll end up
In 1999

[Verse 3: Kokane]
Uh
Who the hell claimed you niggas
Out of every spokesmen of these gangster hits
Fake rapping blood or crip
Now what
I'm still about my rotting socket
You niggas stay in the house
While O.G's pick cotton
Not to moan nigga cause I'm a crack the whip back
I'm gone do this till the D's fall off and the eagle hub caps
Battlecat laced me with some dope tracks
Now I got the whole entire industry upon my nut sack
I went to ghetto {jack'a'lane?}
To push rhymes like weight
Can't live without my weekly [?] (yeah, yeah)
{fire up?} my 600 it's to blow trees and don't care
You niggas pockets be like bad news bears
Uh yeah, I'm taking out all rookies
So forget Oreo's and get your Kokane cookies
Nigga, get your kokane cookies
I represent the west coast, now

[Chorus]
Life is sometimes so fucked up
That's real/wooh
In 1999
And you'll never know where you'll end up
(get yo' paper)
In 1999