Lyrics I Call Shots - Kurupt , Roscoe
Yeah.
yo
whassup
my
nigga?
It's
the
big
homeboy
Snoop
Dogg
And
y'know,
the
streets
is
a
motherfucker
D.P.G.C.,
y'know
Representin
to
the
fullest,
like
dat
dere
Y'Know!
Organized
madness
The
young
Godstra
Ha
hah,
young
Frank
Sinatra,
bitch!
I
call,
I
call
shots
round
here
Tell
who
to
pop
and
who
not
to
pop
round
here
Slow
down,
down
here,
don't
make
too
much
noise
You
know
who
runs
the
blocks
round
here
I
call,
I
call
shots
round
here
Tell
who
to
pop
and
who
not
to
pop
round
here
Slow
down,
down
here,
don't
make
too
much
noise
You
know
who
runs
the
blocks
round
here
Psychosomatic,
automatic
static
Catatonic,
supersonic,
bubonic
chronic
addict
Astrononimcal
in
the
Thunderdome
center
In
the
depths
of
the
dungeon,
dangerous,
dastardly
Catastrophes,
metamorphosize
into
a
pit
Tyranno-Don,
crackin
the
bricks
on
the
walls
Camouflage,
on
the
side
of
livest
Bout
to
put
somethin
up
in
that
could
ride
It's
time
for,
world
war
three
motherfucker
You
know
me,
Young
Got-ti
motherfucker
I
holds
the
microphone
like
a
grudge
In
the
'llac
laid
back,
so
back
the
fuck
up
This
might
give
you
a
heart
attack
It's
real
simple,
can't
get
mo'
simple
than
that
Than
that.
I
call,
I
call
shots
round
here
Tell
who
to
pop
and
who
not
to
pop
round
here
Slow
down,
down
here,
don't
make
too
much
noise
You
know
who
runs
the
blocks
round
here
I
call,
I
call
shots
round
here
Tell
who
to
pop
and
who
not
to
pop
round
here
Slow
down,
down
here,
don't
make
too
much
noise
You
know
who
runs
the
blocks
round
here
The
tactical
acrobatical
automatic
Automatically
psychosomatics
that
got
it
verbally
guided
Visually
you
ride
it
Super
like
the
Sonics
Potent
like
gin
and
tonic
being
injected
through
the
veins
With
double
dosage
of
liquid
chronic
(WHAT?)
Columbian
flake,
the
top
rate
Irate
lost
mental
state
Stallion
I'm
want
about
a
million
or
more
Of
y'all
fools
to
come
back
and
get
some
more
You
can
tell
the
gangsta
soon
as
he
come
in
the
door
He
don't
wear
Calvin
Klein,
he
won't
wear
valour
He
got
some
Cortez
or
some
Converse
on
All-Stars,
G'd
from
the
hat
to
the
floor
You
can
miss
me,
I'm
probably
chillin
up
in
Mississippi
Or
Poughkeepsie
or
Baton
Rouge
guzzlin
whiskey
I'm
a
walkin
franchise
and
I
wanna
get
paid
Get
dropped,
mopped
and
stomped
like
a
parade
Persuasion,
phase
three
of
the
invasion
I
gots
to
break
loose
cause
I'm
feelin
caged
in
Loose
in
the
jungle,
blaze
a
botanical
garden
up
Nowadays,
niggas
ain't
hard
enough
To
bombard
and
bogart,
spots
like
these
Renegade
revolutionary
infantries
I'll
bet
a
thousand
to
one,
you're
never
gonna
make
it
You're
never
gonna
get
it,
y'all
can't
fuck
wit
us
Put
it
together,
our
squad
1999
Mod
Squad
Universal
Soldiers,
I
thought
I
told
ya
I
call,
I
call
shots
round
here
Tell
who
to
pop
and
who
not
to
pop
round
here
Slow
down,
down
here,
don't
make
too
much
noise
You
know
who
runs
the
blocks
round
here
I
call,
I
call
shots
round
here
Tell
who
to
pop
and
who
not
to
pop
round
here
Slow
down,
down
here,
don't
make
too
much
noise
You
know
who
runs
the
blocks
round
here
I'm
a
chart
smasher,
the
youngest
gangster
rapper
Spectacular,
chrome
thirty-eight
packer
Money
stacker,
t-shirt
cakalaka
Verbal
predator,
fake
rap
attacker
Gotti
jawbreaker,
Roscoe
the
back
cracker
Money
makin',
we
smart
like
computer
hackers
I
came
in
this
game
with
plans
to
get
it
maxed
And
my
enemies,
feel
the
wrath
of
my
rapture
No
escapin'
without,
instantaneous
capture
Don't
be
upset,
when
me
and
the
homies
jack
ya
Cause
we
straight
jackin',
if
I
say
it's
on
it's
crackin'
Young
thugs,
from
Y.A.,
we
make
it
happen
Swearin'
y'all
can
see
me
but
that's
just
like
seeing
Elvis
I
grab
to
crick
a
back
and
crack
a
nigga
'cross
the
pelvis
My
rhymes
is
dangerous,
hazardous
to
health
I
make
a
nigga
murder
twenty
kids
and
cap
his
own
self
Who
am
I?
The
incorrigible
lyrical
miracle
Is
horrible
yet
hysterical
the
way
I'll
embarass
you
See
me
on
the
streets,
walk
by
and
I
just
stare
at
you
Tough
talk,
when
there's
bullets
flying
through
the
air
at
you
Test
your
chest
nigga?
One
less
nigga
Me
and
Kurupt
share
two
gats
and
one
vest
nigga
We
astronomical,
phenomenal,
magical,
mathematical
Taking
your
first-born
as
collateral!
I
call,
I
call
shots
round
here
Album
Tha Streetz Iz A Mutha
1 Who Ride Wit Us
2 Step Up
3 I Ain't Sh%T Without My Homboyz
4 Ho's A Housewife
5 It Ain't About You
6 Neva Gonna Give It Up
7 Tequilla
8 Welcome Home
9 Represent Dat G.C.
10 Loose Cannons
11 I Call Shots
12 Trylogy
13 Ya Can't Trust Nobody
14 Your Gyrl Friend
15 Live On The Mic
16 Tha Streetz Iz A Mutha
17 Girls All Pause (feat. Nate Dogg & Roscoe)
18 Calling out Names
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