(Intro)

"Well I remember back in 1973."

"73?"

" I was way out there with mutha fuckin' Commodores..."

" The Commodores?"

" Yeah"

"What the fuck is the mutha fuckin" Commodores?, let me tell you something, I got muthafuckin ten bitches on Sunset..."

"Oh, you straight lyin'!"

"And five bitches on Figueroa...

"Put that on somethin"...

"Two houses in mutha fuckin' Beverly Hills"

"You drinkin' too much Ripple"

"A mutha fuckin pad in Malibu..."

"Malibu? You ain't with them white boys..."

"Ah..."

(Verse 1)

You hear a little of everything every day

But sometimes you don't believe what people say Some of them lie, some tell the truth

It always comes down to where you want some proof! (Boo-Yaa)

Put that on something you love

Something you care foe

You blow it up, and yo ass Is hated on

Your feel like you're disowned, but you puts that on yourself

So gets the fuck on

No time for lollygaggin'

Muthafuckas all bragging, about set taggin

And when you catch them tripp-n

You say put that on something, or get a W.S. ass whippin

I'm neva confuse about the friends I choose

'Cause some are down and some just wanna use So take time to listen to what I bring

And if you think they lying tell 'em

CHORUS:

T.R.I.B.E. Kings Can they can kick it? (Don't put that on your hood)

Westside, can they kick it?

T.R.I.B.E. Kings Can they kick it?

"I got ho's bringin' in over a million dollars a week Sellin' cocaine, clothes, jackin' mutha fuckas, stealin", robbin', all that shit!"

(Verse 2)

Don't put it on your hood, Jack!

'Cause your set ain't even on the fucking map Ganxta Ridd neva joking

Serving all your homies 'cause I know they straight smoking

A lot of your homies Serving time "G"

Saying they did murders but they smoking D.O.P.E. I put's that on the T.R.I.B.E

That's what it B.E

You don't wanna fuck with B-Y-T

I see you kicking it with another race

Putting all your homies 6 feet under In the wrong place

So how in the fucks you feel

When you have to escort your dead homie to Green Hills

I puts that on everything I own

Coming from a hard hittin Samoan

So here go a rose I toss for the lost

And bow to the muthafucken big Boss

And take time to listen to what we bring

If you think they lying tell "em

Repeat Chorus

(Verse 3)

Lifestyle of a Gangsta

A portrait of a gang-leader

I come high with a tech of a millimeter

Everywhere I go I double check

'Muthafucka's puttin' salt on my set

Fool's trying to pull the T.R.I.B.E. card

But we sending muthafuckas to the graveyard

I puts that on my brother

There's a lot of mutha fuckas living life under cover

Come out come out the closet and play

With some hard ass gangstas from L.A

You better think again about yo payback

'Cause it'll be a muthafucking bloodbath

Neva throw it up I throw it down

And it's only my homies allowed to come around So take time to listen to what I bring

If you think they lying tell 'em

Repeat Chorus

Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E., Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E (repeat)

So how we gonna end this mutha fucka?