8Ball & MJG
8Ball & MJG
8Ball & MJG
8Ball & MJG
8Ball & MJG
8Ball & MJG
8Ball & MJG & Big Mike & Mac Mall & E-40
8Ball & MJG
8Ball & MJG
8Ball & MJG &
8Ball & MJG
8Ball & MJG & South Circle
8Ball & MJG
8Ball & MJG & Nina Creque
8Ball & MJG
[Verse 1: Thorough]
They told me to come clever
Whatever he don't make, it's on you
So I be who I be, and do what I gotta do
I'm one of the few, the proud and the pimpest
In this business, I be the swiftest when I kick this
As if you didn't know, it's Thorough from that Suave Camp (Ugh)
Best vamp, champ, or get licked like a mail stamp
Amps and beats, techniques is what I come with
Gangsters and pimps and ballers is who I fuck with
[Verse 2: Mr. Mike]
Fuck, nobody's safe when I see demons in the mirror
Wicked as fuck, feeling like a murderin' killer
Witness, I'm on the defense like Johnny Coch'
Now, give up your things, mister, before this Glock hit the proper spot
Blocks on phones, they won't leave they homes, peeping through cracks
'Cause blacks be coming back from all that past crap
Strap on your bulletproof vest and combat boots
It's Nigga-Nigga Day (Ugh), and this time we gon' bomb on you
Baby-blue eyes, disguise, that's wise
Made me lose my nine-five, got myself a four-five, I'm—
Aiming, spraying, not playing with their vertebraes
These the murder days
So many niggas must come wicked, we done heard of ways
[Verse 3: 8Ball]
I see one, two niggas actin' live
Three seconds pass 'fore I blast with my four-five
Six shots, seven cops, just to take 8Ball
Nine witnesses reported all the shit they recalled
Everlasting, blasting, niggas running fast when buckin'
Got 'em ducking, putting suckers in the past tense
I be the holder of the gat; therefore, I shall not run
A psychic couldn't see such a feature for my mama's son
Nigga breath-taker, the overweight trouble maker
Fake trick breaker, Tennessee earthquaker
Shaking grounds when I'm walking, smoking fat onion
I get lit, then beat the shit out of Paul Bunyan
Fighting, Clash of the Titans on your dial
I'm gettin blitzed stickin on medusa doggystyle
Word, G, you heard me, the wicked bitch served me
Now I'm playing soccer: gotta kick her to the curb, G
But she's not with it, put a spell on the fat mack
I hate smacking hoes but I can't help but to go back
I sound like a fiend, every time is the last time
Could this be reality or all in my mind?
[Verse 4: Mr. Mike]
(UgH) Spill nines like fluid, do it like some G's
They know me from Colombian streets to Portuguese (Nigga, how you figure)
I got more scratch than fleas, I got more gats than these—
High-powered sour niggas, steady slinging crack to fiends
At ease, take a look at some black G's
Scoping the president, take over residence like black kings
Stack G's with phat keys
Rats ease on your properties popping me for my black cheese
[Verse 5: Thorough]
I had a cracker on my scope and my finger still itching (Bup)
Visions of killing and then the strap start spitting, hitting
The prez, plottin payback on the devil
A rebel and a mason is what you snakes facing (Nigga)
Chasing traders with my data cause a hater should be caught
And peep game when it's being taught
Ought to picture this, a boss lyricist
Seeing niggas taking shots and them same niggas getting hit
Spit the gift and got fam' like Gotti (Ugh)
Hitting her like hobbies (Hobbies), killing everybody (Body)
Lift my head, grip the bed, and I check the time
It's all a dream I seen in my fucking mind
[Verse 6: MJG]
Two hundred eighty pounds of hay
Every damn day, I have to test a—
Twenty-five lighters on my dresser, yessir
Breakfast being served by a ho that look like Jeannie
She grants my every wish and keeps a tight-ass bikini
Teeny-tiny as a Barbie Doll summer set
She all up in my house, but I still ain't hit that pussy yet
I gives props to my butler, 'cause he know
That I know on the down-low he's a chiefin' muh'fucker for you
Now, as I flips through my calendar I spots a winner
Involved with three more freaky hoes, wanna have dinner
But I can't do it 'cause my schedule just too tight
I just phoned Quincy Jones—said he needs my help tonight
He wanted me to pick the strong from the wimps
Them players with them limps and make a song called, "We Are the Pimps"
I calls Ball, Ball calls the crew
We met up at the Penthouse, and Paris Round 2
Do you know the code to the fence?
If you don't, then move on, 'cause you ain't got no home in this residence
It's evident that I'm daydreaming, high all the time
Every last line all in my mind
All In My Mind was produced by T-Mix & Smoke One Productions.
8Ball & MJG released All In My Mind on Wed Nov 01 1995.