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Hoppin over barbed wire fences nigga |
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Had this one broad right, she was so damn sprung |
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She used to hold my motherfuckin.. motherfuckin sac nigga! |
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Thought you though, nigga |
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And a motherfuckin.. v.h.s., uhh motherfuckin cannister |
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Nigga, yeah ay, i promise you nigga this game been so damn good |
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(said this rap game's been good to me) |
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Hard times |
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(but i don't know how long that's gonna be..) |
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*chorus: repeat 2x* |
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Hope i don't go back to slangin ya-yo |
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Slangin llello, to get my maillll |
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Verse one: e-40 |
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Been a hustler since birth, mama sellin dinners for the church |
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Red-handed, caught me stealin money out her purse |
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Got branded, permanent whip scars on my back |
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Cause i used to get beat, with racing car tracks |
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But now me got wealth, holdin a conference call on my |
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Hands free car telephone lookin like i'm talkin to myself |
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Shootin the breeze cuttin it up real smooth like |
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Choppin it up like true business men |
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Talkin about it, by the way |
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B - what we doin' this week on soundscan? |
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If i ain't in japan, i'm in the valley |
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Or maybe next door in gary payton bowling alley |
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Or maybe at the shootin range, me and banks |
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Or on the golf course, with merton hanks |
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Or we lay in the sun, give me my propers |
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With a beat that's out of this world, lookin down on doctors |
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Sippin on port, watchin my kids play basketball |
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In the backyard on a 40 by 63 foot long sports court |
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*chorus* |
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Verse two: e-40 |
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Business spot up in the wilderness, coyotes and wild boars |
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Dupont registry aluminum pool table made strictly for outdoors |
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Twenty inch gold super bravos on my ? everybody ain't able |
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To be blessed with success with an independent-ass record label |
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Check it out, marbles, i got the game from my uncle saint char-les |
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Used to bank across the street at wells fargo |
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But now it's merrill lynch |
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And just think, i used to sit the bench |
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I remember gettin chased by the cops, had to get my stomach pumped |
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Full of a quarter ounce of rocks, late afternoon |
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Po-po waitin for me outside of vallejo kaiser permanente |
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Emergency room with glocks, ready to rodney king me to death |
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Somehow i managed to make my escape through |
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The back of the cafeteria by the vending machine department quickly |
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Found myself runnin through the friendship apartment complex |
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Over there by the railroad tracks, around the corner from the |
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People's continuation high school |
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Somewhere off in lofas, behind je-nai's liquor ooh |
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*chorus* |
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Verse three: e-40 |
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Get my mail, check it out, dope game ain't goin |
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Now it seems the, white-collared crimes, are hookin up phones |
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"charlie hustle, i got a few mathmatics |
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I'm doing a compilation, should i go with phunky phat graph-x? |
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I tell them, "hell yeah that's a done deal, dude them be off the hinges |
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Dude them did my cover and my bus benches" |
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Game warrior invested, worldwide sick-wid-it shit, independent chips |
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Beyoooooooootch! |
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Ay see ay, i'ma tell you nigga |
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That's the thing about this whole thing that jump off |
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It's a fool cause a muh'fucka take his bloody money right |
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Until he sit up there and he look and he say |
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"hold on man, hold on man" |
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A muh'fucka, yknowmsayin? |
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You can either be at this shit |
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Or you can be gone with this shit |
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And you look at it and then he say, "man hold on |
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Let me translate this shit - let me translate into some marbles |
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Let me liquidate my motherfuckin revenelles" |
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You understand what i'm sayin? 40-water now, you understand? |
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Ay, ay, but look, check this out |
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I'm here to sprinkle motherfuckers, lace they tennis shoes |
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Teach them about the motherfuckin game-orienfested situations |
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That goes down in the motherfuckin motherfuckin soils weepolations |
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I ain't bullshittin niggaz! |
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[overlaps chorus] |
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.. i don't bullshit! |
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I ain't bullshittin nigga! |
|
*chorus* |
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[singer] there's too many jealous brothers in this game |
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I can't stany the same... i gotta get mine |
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*chorus* |
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[singer] get my money on.. |
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Don't wanna go, don't wanna go, don't wanna go |
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Don't wanna go back - back to the game, heyyyy |
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[e-40] to get your mail, beyoooooootch! |
