Where's T Songtext / Lyric

[Dr. Dre:]

Ay, ay, ay where the fuck did Tee just go?



[Chorus x2: singer]

Where is Tee?

And what's going on?



[Over Chorus: Dr. Dre + (King Tee)]

Where the fuck is Tee?

(Right here, here I come y'all)

Which way did he come? (Here I come)

Which way did he go?

(Hah, over here)

(Hah, here I come)

Yeah, kick that shit






[King Tee:]

Set out to check my trap, twist the mode on grind

Tryna soothe my brain with my money or my mind

Besides busting rhymes, I'm real good at doing crimes

Infected with the code of the street and gang signs

What's that line? Fuck a bitch, won't make a nigga rich

I make a nigga switch from shot calling to a bitch

Off the wall, my niggas never heard of y'all

Can't trust 'em, all up in the mix near hustlers

Stop fronting, I came to represent the W

Hood rats, top dogs and thugs too

Thought you knew, but obviously not, you're through

You need protection from King Tee's resurrection

Peep the session, loc get the full +Tee+ spoon

Swallow it fast cause I'm about to leave soon

For the moon, smoking big bubble toots

In the suburban, sipping on the 'gnac

Now we swerving past moms, gang affiliated rap stars

In motion, tryna get paid for the potion

Top notch, the killer with the Rolex watch

With many karats, step up on the stage and straight tear it

Into pieces, ain't a greater man except Jesus

Who can touch me, bet a hundred thou' you couldn't bust me

The original Likwit rough grammer

Protected by the gat and bandana, who am I...



[Chorus x2]



[Dr. Dre:]

Ay you know what...

Looking at my Rolex, it's about that time

To crack open the Hennessey and roll up a dime

Line after line, I'm blowing your mind

Disrespect and get the nine to your spine

A gang of niggas try but they never come close to

The big time player living like I'm supposed to

So when you see me rolling in the Testarossa

You can best believe I got the strap in my holster

Mobbing son, popping +Robbin-son+ like +Sugar Ray+

Put your gun away or get done away like fait

Got beats and stock cops, you never see the props stop

Steady dippin, stripping emcees like a chop shop

Now who wanna get with the black Frank Nitti?

I ran through your city and left with my boots shitty

Nobody gets looser than this producer

Coordinate tracks that's live, three or four cars to ride

Oh, coming out of L.A. regulating the West coast

East coast and between coasts, then I'm ghost

I know you're bobbing your head cause I can see ya

But you can't see me, the D-R-E and the King Tee



[Chorus x2]