Ask 5th

English translation

Sacramento. Yeah. Roseville. Young Fifth, man.

East Oakland. Drive hard. Kissing ink. Thug affiliate. Vallejo. Tom Coligny.

Bay workout. Feel me?

This is Ask Fifth, baby. Coda. Keeping it in the family.

Standing family. Feel me? The family. Fremont.

I do this mic thing, fucking with night train, drift to the right lane.

I'm on a hype, man, like E-A in the game.

My definition of fame is stalking and mashing, box of things, type in your brain.

I would put that on my kids, but I don't do that shit. Who's just the coolest with the new hit, rapping my new twist?

I went from moving zips to do this shit, bitch.

So never think that you can do it better. I'm the rawest since Pac died. Come to the house about four-five.

Do it live, keep it lit like blunts.

And all my niggas is gangsters, I don't fuck with punks. Sell junk, ride dirty, work. Bastards slam dunks, go ten, you get hurt.

And I want more than your ass kicked, 'cause niggas plastic.

No hoodie blood, scheme ass bitch. I've been itching for some shit to go hyphy as hell to.

Hate all you want, 'cause I'm mad at me too. Ask Fifth, bitch.

-Ask Fifth, biatch. -Just ask Fifth, Tom Coligny, our king.

If we deep in these Northern California streets. From the West to the East, to the

North to the South. You can catch us blowing weed or Newports in our mouth.

Just ask Fifth, Tom Coligny, our king.

If we deep in these Northern California streets. From the West to the East, to the North to the South.

You can catch us -blowing weed or Newports in our mouth.

-Y'all niggas hovering like vultures, fiending for the taste of death.

Savage mouth piece ripping the flesh right up off your chest. I'm from the West Coast.

Y'all tripping, y'all thinking that y'all can't get smoked. These hollow tip pop ones will rip that plat off your throat.

Nigga, here's how it goes. Squirt Chanel cologne, fuck dime ass hoes, hoes.

Boss shows, payrolls and faces. Only affiliate with respectable players.

On the block, we jump like two-way pagers. Neck still with some French bones.

Fifty inch chains, diamond rings. I'm never home, 'cause I'm an outlaw.

Two of y'all boys competing with Fifth. Just remember this, my goons, we hard to hit. Lock shit like a pit.

It's for the cheddar. Revenue Records keeping freezies hot like Berettas.

It's for the cheddar. Revenue Records keeping freezies hot like Berettas.

Just ask Fifth, Tom Coligny, our king.

If we deep in these Northern California streets. From the West to the East, to the North to the South.

You can catch us blowing weed or Newports in our mouth. Just ask Fifth, Tom Coligny, our king.

If we deep in these Northern California streets. From the West to the East, to the

North to the South. You can catch us blowing weed or Newports in our mouth.

Y'all cop boys hating Fifth, I'm out getting these chips.

Spit the shit that knock the gloss off your lips. Little fag nigga, I push bags, nigga.

Bred from the soil. Fuck with HKs, AKs, and keep them shits oiled.

Some of y'all niggas causing the game to spoil. I smell shit. Nervous shaking hard in your boots.

I roll with killers, ex-cons, thieves, fools, and goons.

In the saloon, crushing two with a spoon. Watch the full moon.

The wolf is coming. It's like nobody said shit, but niggas was running.

We big thugging, big gunning, smash shit.

Melch your phony actors, we bend them like plastic. Little bitch, like Keak I itch to come sick.

Dusting rookies right off the shelf, it's Boss Fifth. Boss Fifth, man. Dusting rookies right off the shelf, it's

Boss Fifth. It's Boss Fifth, man.

-Tom Coligny, man. You feel me? -Kissing ink, man. We be in saddle, Satan.

Fancy take the cash, man. We on this album, boy.

We finally put it together, man. I need to get back a little bit. Fourteen years later, man.

But see, we been in the game a long time, man. Married as hell. I love you.

You feel me?

Vice City, yeah.

Northern Cali, man. You could ask Beetle too, man. My boy Beetle.

My boy Beetle, man.

Cosmo, man. Stick up, bro. Fifty-four team, man. Came home, man.

In the door in the tank. Little Ruth, man, we love you.

Five hundred Thug Affiliates, man. All my homies locked up, man. You feel me?

This is Ask Fifth, man. Ask my boy Fifth, biatch.

Just Ask Fifth