| Song | As The World Keeps Turning - Album Version |
| Artist | Miscellaneous |
| Album | Dr. Dre Presents... The Aftermath |
| Artist：dr. dre f/ where | |
| Intro/chorus： | |
| As the world keeps turning, chronic keeps burning | |
| (this ain't no) street sermon, these niggas are determined | |
| *repeat* | |
| Verse 1:where | |
| I flow like cd's in the deck | |
| Moosh fools in the face that lack respect | |
| Protect ya arm, pitch from the funk | |
| I deodirise the musty, ya rhymes are crusty, you can't bust g | |
| So leave me alone i'm in the zone | |
| Walkin the streets on my own, nigga get blown | |
| Some niggas say that nigga where is gone | |
| But i'm low in the cut and gotta microphone | |
| Are you gone bust or play bones? | |
| You motherfuckin clone, get off that nigga's style and get'cha own | |
| It's miscellane and it's on again | |
| For the niggas that slept, they shoulda stayed in step | |
| And kept ya big fuckin mouth shut | |
| Chorus | |
| Verse 2:where | |
| I woke up with a stomach ache, headache, back ache | |
| Advil, tylenol, peptol, slept so long realised my world is wrong | |
| My world is gone like disco | |
| Blowin up cisco and in my cammo | |
| Standin in back of me was my soul | |
| Thinking of the easiest way to get a bank roll | |
| Knowledge is urban-able, exhaust manifold | |
| A tar can of hos to lubricate my system quick | |
| Shaky bitches off the dick | |
| Cos she got a vice grip on the flow from my lips | |
| I'm slow but equipped with the proper tools | |
| Show me the one talkin shit so i can drop a fool | |
| I'm out to glow a nigga roll if he think he mr cream | |
| Come back on the scene and smoke a phillie, g | |
| I really dream of gettin mine now let me tell you what's silly | |
| Me, buckin with my team is murder one | |
| I heard a gun bustin shots (shots!), down the block (block!) | |
| I guess a nigga gettin what he got (got!) | |
| Shit is heavy like a medicine ball and broke niggas to smoke niggas | |
| I'll fuck one for y'all, they made ya last phone call | |
| To a trick that didn't even care | |
| Cos she was gettin fucked somewhere, you're stuck in there | |
| Now you wanna bust, nigga, now you wanna kill, nigga (nigga) | |
| Nigga how ya feel? (nigga) | |
| You can't try to be real (you can't try to be real) | |
| Shit is for real | |
| Chorus | |
| Verse 3:where | |
| I'm cooler than most, but i got the shorter temper | |
| And i'm cooler than foes that don't know how it goes | |
| Let's take it back to the first side | |
| When you was a new jack and jockin my new track | |
| But you was wrong, didn't know about the big long | |
| Head-strong, nicknamed dav from off the school yard | |
| Witta teenage group i'm turnin loots to tracks | |
| Me and my niggas like (these tracks are laced with bomb weed and tight | |
| Lyrics) | |
| You wanna know what the hos used to do | |
| When me and my crew came bustin through | |
| All sorts of blushins brew | |
| (a neighbourhood find, a gift too swift, miscellane is the crew) | |
| Underground till my brown eyed balls turned blue | |
| This is for the bitches and niggas that wanna front | |
| I smoke on, i broke on till i spoke on | |
| Miscellane packin shows like farrakhan | |
| Where is on another level with two niggas that's on the same plateau | |
| Now that's three times your tightest flow | |
| And three times ya tightest track, three times your fattest sack | |
| Three times is clever (buck!) | |
| Chorus x 2 | |
| Outro: | |
| Thou shalt rest in grief who lay buried in the belt | |
| Barely included work, leaves bodies scarred and hurt | |
| To art in hell, where the next man dwells | |
| The place with stankin pussy and crack rock dwells |
| Artist: dr. dre f where | |
| Intro chorus: | |
| As the world keeps turning, chronic keeps burning | |
| this ain' t no street sermon, these niggas are determined | |
| repeat | |
| Verse 1: where | |
| I flow like cd' s in the deck | |
| Moosh fools in the face that lack respect | |
| Protect ya arm, pitch from the funk | |
| I deodirise the musty, ya rhymes are crusty, you can' t bust g | |
| So leave me alone i' m in the zone | |
| Walkin the streets on my own, nigga get blown | |
| Some niggas say that nigga where is gone | |
| But i' m low in the cut and gotta microphone | |
| Are you gone bust or play bones? | |
| You motherfuckin clone, get off that nigga' s style and get' cha own | |
| It' s miscellane and it' s on again | |
| For the niggas that slept, they shoulda stayed in step | |
| And kept ya big fuckin mouth shut | |
| Chorus | |
| Verse 2: where | |
| I woke up with a stomach ache, headache, back ache | |
| Advil, tylenol, peptol, slept so long realised my world is wrong | |
| My world is gone like disco | |
| Blowin up cisco and in my cammo | |
| Standin in back of me was my soul | |
| Thinking of the easiest way to get a bank roll | |
| Knowledge is urbanable, exhaust manifold | |
| A tar can of hos to lubricate my system quick | |
| Shaky bitches off the dick | |
| Cos she got a vice grip on the flow from my lips | |
| I' m slow but equipped with the proper tools | |
| Show me the one talkin shit so i can drop a fool | |
| I' m out to glow a nigga roll if he think he mr cream | |
| Come back on the scene and smoke a phillie, g | |
| I really dream of gettin mine now let me tell you what' s silly | |
| Me, buckin with my team is murder one | |
| I heard a gun bustin shots shots!, down the block block! | |
| I guess a nigga gettin what he got got! | |
| Shit is heavy like a medicine ball and broke niggas to smoke niggas | |
| I' ll fuck one for y' all, they made ya last phone call | |
| To a trick that didn' t even care | |
| Cos she was gettin fucked somewhere, you' re stuck in there | |
| Now you wanna bust, nigga, now you wanna kill, nigga nigga | |
| Nigga how ya feel? nigga | |
| You can' t try to be real you can' t try to be real | |
| Shit is for real | |
| Chorus | |
| Verse 3: where | |
| I' m cooler than most, but i got the shorter temper | |
| And i' m cooler than foes that don' t know how it goes | |
| Let' s take it back to the first side | |
| When you was a new jack and jockin my new track | |
| But you was wrong, didn' t know about the big long | |
| Headstrong, nicknamed dav from off the school yard | |
| Witta teenage group i' m turnin loots to tracks | |
| Me and my niggas like these tracks are laced with bomb weed and tight | |
| Lyrics | |
| You wanna know what the hos used to do | |
| When me and my crew came bustin through | |
| All sorts of blushins brew | |
| a neighbourhood find, a gift too swift, miscellane is the crew | |
| Underground till my brown eyed balls turned blue | |
| This is for the bitches and niggas that wanna front | |
| I smoke on, i broke on till i spoke on | |
| Miscellane packin shows like farrakhan | |
| Where is on another level with two niggas that' s on the same plateau | |
| Now that' s three times your tightest flow | |
| And three times ya tightest track, three times your fattest sack | |
| Three times is clever buck! | |
| Chorus x 2 | |
| Outro: | |
| Thou shalt rest in grief who lay buried in the belt | |
| Barely included work, leaves bodies scarred and hurt | |
| To art in hell, where the next man dwells | |
| The place with stankin pussy and crack rock dwells |