Ooh, yeah, yeah.
Whats love got to do.
Warren G, rap for me, yeah-eah, yeah, mm mm.
When G-dog, the hog, come up in the place,
Theres dollar signs in your eyes and a smile in your face.
You wanna live fat, all for my sack.
You got more drag than a low lo-do, cut the act,
Cause back before 92 and 93,
You didnt give a damn about Warren G,
But now that Im slingin platinum LPs,
All of a sudden, you on my N.U.Ts.
Aint nothin you can do to make it stop,
Cause money makes the world go round and the panties drop.
I aint in love though, I dont need the pressure.
I just wanna dig it like Im diggin for treasure.
Some of yall had a good thing that you couldnt keep,
Thought you was TLC, you had to creep.
You say you had love, I said you need to quit.
Its all about the dough, so whats love got to do with it?
Whats love got to do, got to do with it (thats right)?
Whats love if you dont respect the game (uh-huh)?
Whats love got to do, got to do with it?
If you lack in this game, its a shame, you wont make it.
Now, Im the type of brother thats down for mines.
Before I made beats, I was down to grind.
Back then, every single homey had my back,
Now theyre peepin my stack and theyre talkin bout jack,
But Im the same brother day in and day out,
And Im-a stay that way until the day I lay out in a casket.
Its drastic, cause homies is plastic.
Break em off some bread, they want the whole damn basket.
If yous a true homey, you would wish me well,
Not plot to see a brother fell, jealous as hell.
We used to get the same riches.
Now your trigger-finger got the itches, schemin on my riches
Which is not a suprise, my eyes peep game,
211s, 187s its all the same.
Its all a shame, homiesd jack you for your grip.
Aint no love involved, because its all about the chips.
Now for these labels tellin fables,
Makin the messed-up deals under the tables.
You think that you smart, but, fool, Im the smartest.
You cant make no money if you cant keep an artist.
Sign the dotted line, put em on the shelf.
Break em off some crumbs, keep the rest for yourself.
I know how it goes, treat an artist like you know,
Fly cars, gold, clothes, but no dough.
Since its all business, Im-a handle mine,
Keep track of my stack down to the very last dime,
Cause in this rap game, its all about the buck.
You bend over for the label and you will get bucked,
Like how we run up in the skirt, and then youre through.
The record label do the same thing to you.
90% business, 10% show.
Aint no love in this game, cause its all about the dough.
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