Comin' Up

(album: On Top Of The World - 1995)

A hot day in August, 1991
Me and MJ walking, talking in the hot sun
OTS was home then, listen to the lyrics
Me and MJ made the shit
101 played the shit
Selling tapes straight from my hand to your hand
Pump didn't give us none
So we had to take them
Make him respect a nigga, check the nigga constantly
Busta, where my cheese at?
Before I have to get the gat
Every record store and stereo supply shop
Selling me, but I'm not collecting a salary
What else to do except say fuck this whole rap shit
Find a hustle in the streets and try to flip shit
All in the next nigga hood slanging packs on the bus
People asking me, "Mane, don't you rap?"
No shame, had to get to A to B to make the C-H-Double-E-S-E
Coming up

1992, stacking dues, not royalties
Cause we was told they was used for utilities
Not one single dime, not one check
And we was here from the whole business aspect
A lot of fame came with some decent record sales
But at the same time, we was catching plenty hell
Cause we could tell that the record deal was going sour
But over everything we did, he had full power
With no money in my hands, only fans
Staying true, taking stance helped me to pursue my fans
Pen and paper
I kept keeping
Reefer chiefing
Beepers wasn't beeping
Money we was needing
Me and 'Ball constantly having arguments with our manager
Trying to damage a
Good career, fool, is amateur
Damn it's a, crying shame
To take too much
8Ball & MJG broke free
For the come up

9:30 in the morning, me and MJ on the phone
8 o'clock the same day, we was outta here and gone
T-Money and JB set the tickets up, we picked 'em up
Hit the studio, ready to make the megabucks
Seeing kis and Gs, and hanging with the hustlers
Real niggas with Glocks, eliminating bustas
In the process, we made coming out hard
That's when my real nigga J went behind bars
Every day flying state to state, the shit was great
Eating steak and lobster like motherfucking mobsters
Metting women that I'll probably never meet again
Smiling faces, on the outside, looking' in

I'm on the outside, looking in
I coulda been another one take
Mystery that went with history, just like a trend
Then, I would lose all hope, if I don't shout
But it's too many players in my motherfucking court
Prepare to blow the fuck outta the rap game
Cause we ain't, dropping vocals sounding like the next mane
Watching out for new friends, hanging out with true friends
Splurging with some loose ends, riding in a new Benz
1995, pure dope, uncut, super nuts
Much hard from the start, from the hips, out the gut
Much skills, I'ma flex on the next tape
Showing off, ain't no way in hell I'ma fail
While I'm coming up