Low Class Conspiracy

Ha-ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha, ayy
Ha-ha-ha-ha, ha-ha
Ha-ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha
Hello cars, what really done?
Hello little piggies, be tryin' to run

Ayo, we headed to a party to go see what's happening
Smoking a lot in the car turn on some rappin'
Start to freestyle we be up on our way
Finish up the blunt, somebody pass me that spray

Get on the freeway yo, it's after dark
Gets is always on the bypass
Letting all kinds of speed cars pass
Just so they can harass our black asses

Police pulling us over for no reason
Searching the car, like it's nigga hunting season
Yeah, around asking about where's the pound
Where's the gun, are y'all niggaz on the run?

You got warrants? Y'all niggas ready for some informin'?
That's how they be cracking, it seems like they be actin'
Except it's real life, like they're rushing up your residence
Searching your crib, they can't find no evidence

Man this stuff is making me mad man
That's what I'm sayin', I ain't trippin' no more
Aye man, it sucks, saying about something
I'm tired of these pigs harassing us every day, man

The other day Mr. Buddha had this plan
Kick brands off the man so our whole crew could expand
They all wanted me to drive the getaway car
I was like "Fuck it 'cause I ain't got no dough anyway"

They started to plant in my garage
They get large and they gather the entourage
My niggas straight hit the bank then broke the hell out
So much money you couldn't even get that smell out

I got laced with thirty Gs to keep it frees
Plus a nigga ratted so 5-0s on a breeze (fuck)
Police talking about where's the dead president
I said fuck y'all, niggas ain't got no evidence



Credits
Writer(s): Otis Jackson
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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