Songtexte Leave Me Alone (ft. Dr. Dre & Ty Dolla $ign) - Xzibit

(Leave me the fuck alone) yeah, uh-huh

Money, I don't talk about it, I'm that type of motherfucker
Doc' Dre, bitch, yeah, I fuck with all them colors
I like it raw, baby, fuck the world, no rubber
These snakes all in my grass, slimey bitches undercover
Got me in here feeling like X behind the shutters
It's Mr. Fuck You, motherfucker, did I st-st-stutter?
I'm in the forefront, you in the storefront
Fuck first night, change your life (ah), Daddy Warbucks

G650, why you rolling on that tour bus?
Fuck with us, any hot occasion, yeah, we going up
Shit can get sticky when them 60s start rolling up
Blood still boilin' up, where you from? Throw it up
I can write an essay 'bout all my ese
On to the next phase, you couldn't fuck with this on your best day

Brainstorming, 'bout to rain on your fucking parade
Strange morning if I wake up with nothing to say (ow)
Deep pockets, call my wallet Chris Wallace (Baby, baby)
Big facts, this my attempt at being modest
I'm legendary, give a fuck what niggas call it
If you ain't talking 'bout a profit, get the fuck up out my office
You know I been that

Same old, same old nigga (mhm)
She like, baby, I ain't seen you in a minute (mhm)
I'm with my same old, same old brothers (mhm)
Rolls-Royce and the Impalas and the Cutlass (mhm)
Maestros from the Popeyes and the Church's (mhm)
Now it cost a quarter milli' for these verses (mhm)
I put the most bitty women in new purses (mhm)
If I left the house without SIG Sauer, I'd be nervous (mhm)

Jealous niggas envious and after me like thots be
This white tee Bottega, from the Pro Clubs at the swap meet
I been beating up these pussy hos since Rodney
She bag it up and dump it, baby, whoa, kemosabe, ay
Choppa, choppa, c'mon (ay)
Drop it down, whoa, whoa
Pick it up, who do you love?
Dolla $ign and D-R-E sound like a billion bucks
Same nigga, and I still don't give a billion fucks

From the land of the palm trees, bitch, please (bitch, please)
You see my name on that market, you know I turn keys (shit, I turn keys)
Stepping on your neck and cracking the concrete (poof!)
Fuck away from my table, this where the gods eat (gods eat)
Hit the casino with my ginger, we sippin' on gin and juice
There she goes, ready to blow, my Penélope Cruz
Pay your dues, show and prove
Everything you can lose, breaking laws, breaking jaws
Nigga, this that breaking news (ha)

Back to business, back with the visions, fuck your apology (ha)
Got my cling back, Conor McGregor shit, the irony
Honestly, most of these niggas ain't speaking honestly
We where they trying to be, we turning up the economy (ay)
Silent circles, lot of zeros in these hidden figures
Sometimes you gotta pop out and show these niggas
And sometimes you gotta pop out and outgrow these niggas
Sunday morning, hittin' corners, holy ghostin' bitches

It's not what's said, it's what was done
The West is one, you know the difference
That's why I keep my guns and funds closer than a photo finish
(Leave me the fuck alone)
Back to thicken the plot, me and the Doc watch

Same old, same old nigga (mhm)
She like, baby, I ain't seen you in a minute (mhm)
I'm with my same old, same old brothers (mhm)
Rolls-Royce and the Impalas and the Cutlass (mhm)
Maestros from the Popeyes and the Church's (mhm)
Now it cost a quarter milli' for these verses (mhm)
I put the most bitty women in new purses (mhm)
If I left the house without SIG Sauer, I'd be nervous (mhm)