ミュージックビデオ

特集

クレジット

PERFORMING ARTISTS
E-40
E-40
Vocals
B-Legit
B-Legit
Vocals
Stresmatic
Stresmatic
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Earl T Stevens
Earl T Stevens
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Michael Denten
Michael Denten
Recording Engineer

歌詞

In the Bay, the streets is polluted, unsanitized Why stay? They'll turn your potato to French Fries AK, homicides, fuck around and get neutralized Savage, uncivilized, get in your shit like some flies Pull a bitch like a trailer without the hitch She want my dick between both of her lips She like my outfit, my status, my personality Took her to the telly, skeeted on her cavity I put it on my nana, clip game bananas Choppa got a cooler, pistol got the bandanna B-la got a scanner, hammer in some hoes Blowin' on exotic, she been playin' with her nose We on tippy-toes, pose for the 'Gram She do it for the fam, baby know the game plan Hit before I scram, put her in the jam Supposed to have the back, but I was in there going HAM Meet the dealers All real niggas, no squealers Thirty on the bottom, .40 cal potato peelers We them guys Not like them, we're realer I'm in here with the vacuum sealer Meet the dealers All real niggas, no squealers Thirty on the bottom, .40 cal potato peelers We them guys Not like them, we're realer I'm in here with the vacuum sealer Beanie cap rolled up, sittin' on top of the head Pistol filled up, little niggas about they bread She gon' hol' up, that's what his pimp partner said We gon' blow up, and buy a big-ass crib Saucy, they offer me bricks and broomsticks Hits from the dab, you know how mad these fools get Maps of the pad got your bitch in the pool with Bosses and they topless playin' around with pool sticks Another day go when I was headed to the store To buy some backwoods to smoke my turtle I saw this buster that owed me a couple dollars or something At first I was about to let the shit go, but no This nigga on go, he acting hella ampy Like I ain't the chef, you know I shrimp scampy I put him in the mix, shoot him in his dick Don't ever fuck around with the family Meet the dealers All real niggas, no squealers Thirty on the bottom, .40 cal potato peelers We them guys Not like them, we're realer I'm in here with the vacuum sealer Meet the dealers All real niggas, no squealers Thirty on the bottom, .40 cal potato peelers We them guys Not like them, we're realer I'm in here with the vacuum sealer I Die Hard, drive cars with no OnStar Spend the night with a pornstar She got her own bar, keep my weed in the clothes drawer And roll 'em up, she got handle bars Annually, there's four quarters in twelve months, listen here There's eight thousand, seven hundred and sixty hours in a year There's 28 grams in a zip of nasal candy, right? A thousand gigabyets in a terabyte Long nights in the summertime, still count money Hard top rain, like to drop it when it's sunny And you can ask Sonny, 'cause he the bus driver Clever like MacGyver with a stash box inside her We livin' in a world where the unexpected became expected Real shit? Niggas disrespect it Seconds can mean the difference between life and death Every day, I wake up and open my eyes, I'm blessed... BIATCH! Meet the dealers All real niggas, no squealers Thirty on the bottom, .40 cal potato peelers We them guys Not like them, we're realer I'm in here with the vacuum sealer Meet the dealers All real niggas, no squealers Thirty on the bottom, .40 cal potato peelers We them guys Not like them, we're realer I'm in here with the vacuum sealer Meet the dealers
Writer(s): Inconnu Compisiteur Auteur, Terion Porter Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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