My posse might be on the one. My posse might be on the tree. My posse might be for two. My posse might be on the one. My posse might be on the one. My posse might be for trees. My posse might be for two. My posse might be on the one. My posse. My posse. It's getting big, the posse's getting big. My posse. My posse. Posse's getting big, and my posse's getting bigger. Ice Cube and Effect, and I'm the posse leader. Love my woofer and hate my tweeter. Rap don't sing, and groupies do flock. Gold rings and things keep them girlies on my jock. Posse do get DS, cunny. It's all about girls and making cash money. Crenshaw. Crenshaw is where I chill. Never ever sick, but always ill. Sir G, no debating. Beats I cut keep the woofers vibrating. Third to the cut, but that's all right, because CIA is on the mic. My posse. My posse. Posse's getting big, the posse's getting big. My posse. My posse. Posse's getting big, and my posse's getting bigger. Females on my trip, and it ain't funny. Why? I don't know, probably because I got money. Don't want me, just want my riches. Things like that keep snitches on my britches. I wear all 501s. Many wear Adidas, but I have none. Feelers are drooling, girls are drooling. Ruling all classes, because I am schooling. Yes, boy, and I am with it. Reaching for the crown, and I damn sure get it. Be the king, rap don't sing, and when I come around, here's who I'll bring. My posse. My posse. Posse's getting big, and my posse's getting bigger. My posse. My posse. Posse's getting big, and her posse's on my desk. My posse. She might on D1. Right. My posse. She might be for trees. Right. My posse. She might be for tools. Right. My posse. She might on D1. Bye. Posse on the boulevard with white girls. Fresh feel of gear, and my hair is curled. We'll get a motel, but I'm too cheap. I'm about to let her have it in the backseat. Chicks get ill, and I assume this girl won't go to the motel room. Me in the backseat, turn up the sound. But my man KD nowhere to be found. He's a bumpin' drag, and it ain't no joke. If I had to pay attention, she'll wind up broke. Talking quite dirty, if that's the clue. Started kissing and hugging on posse too. Headed for the skirt, had to admit it. Willa not ill, and she was damn sure with it. Whip it in my ear, talking ass, said hurry up in the back. Homeboy, I'm next. JT off, but my girl's no fun. I'm the only one that's on a dry run. She had a beef, I had a gripe. But I heard differ, she's not that tight. I *** her and dismiss her, threw her out of the place. Start popping that trash through my hand in her face. *** another girl who loves the posse. Headed to the box, and the rest history. My posse, my posse. Posse's getting bigger, my posse's getting bigger. My posse, my posse. My posse's getting bigger, my posse's getting bigger. Posse, posse, posse, posse's getting bigger. Posse, posse, posse, posse's getting bigger. Posse, posse, posse, posse's getting bigger. Posse's getting bigger, my posse's getting bigger. Posse one, ice cube, and I'm the A. Posse two, roll the deuce, Kenzie's in the play. Sir Jinks in the back, and I'm the tray. I talk more ***, and down with Dre. The record crew is with it, hip to get busy. ECE, rendezvous, keep chasing those skizzies. Vanessa Teller says, let's make that noise. This rhyme is dedicated to the wick boys. So all the girls out there, want to get in our face. Get those Chris Shaw cruisers, keep up in that bass. And to any rap team, if you want to be keen, you must stand in line if you know what I mean. My posse, my posse. Posse's getting bigger, my posse's getting bigger. My posse, my posse. Posse's getting big, the response is on my desk. My posse, Mickey Mike on D1. My posse, he might be for a tree. My posse, he might be for two. Hey, yo, Dre, kick in the bass. West Coast style.