Too Short › Lyrics › In the Trunk

It's on, where they at, where they at, where they at

I sold tapes every day me and Freddy B
Been famous since 1983
Give me ten dollars, and you straight get blessed
A rap all about you called the special request

Oakland, you know I go way back
To coug nuts, fal stangs, and Cadillac's
When homeboys put Vogues on any car
With 6 by 9's smokin' burners

Everybody got addicted to my dope fiend beat
Whole town f***** around and started smoking D
Every rap I ever made was about this town
I made 7 whole albums with no James Brown

And even though I love his music, I just can't stand
The way they used it all up and didn't pay the man
And after 2 platinum albums, you call me weak
'Cause I don't sell records in the East

Now what's funky, I say pussy on an old hoe
I guess y'all fools don't know
Why some good rappers can't sell no tapes
It's not the company's fault, the s*** sounds fake

You wanna be in the trunk, with the boomin' box
While the young b****** ride on your jock
You can't do it like this homey, so just pass it
And stop kissin' them white folks asses

It's like you smoked a whole damn key
You rap so fast you keep leavin' the beat
I'm from the old school, I love P-Funk
But now rap music is all that they want

So when I'm in my car, I play Clinton
And when I'm on the stage I start pimpin'
And when I hear your s***, I push eject
Then I throw it out the window with the rejects

And when the hard core rappers go soft
I like to watch when they ass fall off
'Cause ain't nothing worth kicking like a sucka MC
And any other rappers ever talk about me

I don't stop rappin', that's all they can say
And how I dogg b******, every day
But if you can't be a dogg, then you're weak
You be phony like a side show freak

Some rappers try to come off positive
Where I'm from that just ain't how it is
They say rap music is here to stay
But the sucka MC's don't think that way

It took 8 long years before I got my break
So I wonder why rapper's make fake ass tapes
You won't get paid like I did, so give up punk
And while your in the studio, I'm in the trunk

You got no choice, so don't flip that coin
This ain't the military, so you punks can't join
It ain't pop, it's called underground rap
From Oakland California and the s*** sounds phat

I'm spittin' raps to my motherfuckin' homies
That's why they listen to the one and only
I used to be broke, but now we all used to be
Got no game for a b****, all the game is for me

And these b******, can't say s*** to me
They could never could f*** with Short baby
I'm not a tounge twistin' rapper with a funny style
Don't dress hip hop and dance real wild

But I do sell records like a m***********
Even though you might think I'm just another sucka
I find the beat and then never switch
Grab the microphone and then call you a b****

You want rent money, I got pimp money
One thing's for sure, I won't give it to a hoe
I throw a b**** in the g****** trunk
And start slammin' that Oakland funk

Short Dogg's in the house, once again
Trying to fade the platinum, with Shorty the Pimp
And when I do, I'm goin' straight to the bank
Withdraw some money and buy some dank

You can't relate to my motherfuckin' homies
That's why they listen to the one and only
I grew up on the funk called P
But these m************ growin' up on me

And if I ego trip, and my head is f*****
I take my ass back, to where I grew up
And get real boy, it's never too late
Before I do like you and make a weak ass tape

I'm in the trunk, in the trunk, in, in the trunk
In the trunk, in, in the trunk
In the trunk beatin' down the block
In the trunk, in, in the trunk, in the trunk, in, in the trunk
In the trunk beatin' down the block