Rapper’s Ball de E-40 |
|
Letra de Rapper’s Ball
Where them naked hoes at?
E-feezey!
Too scheezy!
We off the heezy foscheezy baby!
Off the heezy I thought you theezy!!
Niggaz aint havin no cheesy like us main!
They aint havin no raveez!
Shit.
Haha you know us.
Where k-ceeezi at man? tell him sing that shit.
Lace dem fools or something.
Beotch!
Chorus: k-ci
Say that you got it all
Love the way you players ball
Everyday youre at the mall
Tell me is it true or false
Say that you got it all
Love the way you players ball
Claimin that your mail is tall
Tell me is it true or false
Verse one: e-40, too $hort
I put my mack hand down aint never been asound
I was havin b-r-e-a-d way before this rap game nigga been town
Thought you theezy, for sheezy, niggaz member
Earl, brat, and denell dem boys from vallel
At every light its automatic, burn rubber
See my folkers in the traffic, whassup erb
Follow that cab it got dope in it, uhh
My potnah $hort got hoes in it
Im always hearin rappers big ballin on they songs
I do that shit for real and youll never say Im wrong
S-500 straight sittin on twenties
Tv in the dash pimpin hoes gettin money
Im too $hort baby been down since the eighties
For the last eight years rode around in a mercedes
Lexus, trucks, drop-vette, caddy
Bitches dont call me by my name they call me daddy
Chorus
Verse two: e-40, too $hort
K-ci $hort e-40 fonzarelli
Ill probably never have long money like ross perilli
But shit we just want a hip
Dont want the whole plate
Dont put the two on the ten, dont ever perpetrate
Like a lot of these fools I see on tv
With the armani chanel versus versacci
Why motherfuckers cant be broke sometimes?
Sometimes its cool to floss
But dont buy an eighty-five thousand dollar car
Before you buy a house
They always said I couldnt rap, I just say bitch
I guess the bitch, made me rich
And now you wanna call me hardcore
While I be steppin out the shower on a marble floor
I paid the irs taxes send fedex and faxes
This industryll is like fuckin, fat bitches
All work and no play, I do it everyday
Anyway cuz I gotta stay paid 40
Chorus
Verse three: e-40, too $hort
We throw parties on big-ass boats, niggaz wrap they paper
Ultrafied all-inclusive trips, montego jamaica
Front row seats at the ultimate fights, shamrock and severin
Long expensive fuh-flights, up dere in the heavens
Fat ass royalty checks, fat ass cribs
Smokin blunts and drinkin brew on the blacony, barbecuin ribs
The more scrilla, the merrier
I represent the ya area
I walk from foothill and paperscourt to sixty-seven macarthur
To freddie b house to make tapes with my potnah
Hit arroyo park, we had tapes for sale
Got a paper bag full of that, cant you tell
Its funky, everybody nod they head like this
I said bitch, and everybody read my lips
I got rich, suckin up the game from the o
And even though a lot of rappers got the same kind of flow
I survived cuz I got mo, game than them
It came straight from the prostitutes, players, and pimps
It was my destiny, I came the same every time
So dont question me, I transfer the game in the rhymes
Im not a freestyler, dont rap for free main
Its paystyle on mine, cuz I love money main
Landrovers and toyota, lexuses
Six-hundred feet twelve with them big ass motor mercedeses
We dont be savin hoes, bitches be savin us
Bitch disrespect me in my car, bitch best to catch the bus
I keep a briefcase full of game, while yall be ear-hustlin
Aint no paperback pimpin nigga, we aint strugglin
Chorus
Verse four: too $hort
Im shorty the pimp, I come funky
Again and again, they say when will it end?
Maybe never, cause I can still spit it
But I aint rappin for cheese, I want meal tickets
Gotta start somewhere, and Im past that
For the right scratch, I be the last mack
So stick yaself pretty tony
You tryin ta make a hit, but your shit sounds phony
Not like at&t but like et
You cant be me, so would you please see
If you can keep my name out your mouth
Cause you dont really know what the games all about
Its bout feedin the family, not freakin in the benz
Instead of rentin, pay for that roof on your head
And stop pimpin in your mind knowin you a trick
Put your hustle down playa go an hit you a lick
Bitch!
(thats writ, too scheezi, ant banks, forty fonzarelli, k-ci)
Damn is that right?
(thats right) |
|
|
Comentarios de la letra Rapper’s Ball de E-40 |
|
|
|
|
