D-Boyz Got Love For Me (feat. E-40)

(Feat. E-40) (Intro: Spice 1) What's wrong nigga? What's wrong huh? You scared nigga? You scared? What, you can't talk with a motherfuckin' gun in your mouth nigga? I'm gonna give you a three count I'ma blow your motherfuckin' brains out One, what you think about, what you thinkin'? I'm proud, two (kinda slick motherfucker) (*Gun blast*) Nineteen motherfuckin' nine-fo' comin' at cha Gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gangsta Spice motherfuckin' 1 (Spice 1) I eat they ass up like a Swason with the Thompson Fo'-fever, leave a - motherfuckin' crime 'fore he take his last breather So come along take a trip to the dirt track Where the young niggas be takin' your car and be peelin' your cap back That's why it's A to the motherfuckin' yay Keeps a fat gat for the funk in the East Bay Mainly off gat, I'm goin' brain dead inside Talkin' to my homies 'Scratchy' tellin' me he wanna ride On the nigga that peeled his cap so now I'm on the streets With the dead motherfucker in the passenger seat And it's fo' to the motherfuckin' five G-a-gat that ass leave 'em dead in the ives Red Rum on the late night, catch my case right at the crack hut Niggas better back up, while I fix my sack up Pistol whip, shit, kick that ass quick Quick to rip shit, cause I'm a Coca Cola Classic O.G. and D-Boyz got love for me, D-Boyz got love for me (*Interlude*) (E-40) Da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha Da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha (Spice 1) I'ma chuck a dead body on your motherfuckin' lawn Like jump like Red gone, nigga I'll be ready the funk is on So call up the Paramedics and tell 'em that you're dyin' nigga I roll strapped with no love upon my fuckin' trigger I lets my hair platt, and took his mail stack Now he's a stiff black, cause I was at that I'm dumpin' these niggas in ditches back to back Hangin' they ass from telephone posts To leavin' 'em makin' 'em bleed without no money Gun me, hoe niggas wanna do that, do that But I go out and get a new gat, new gat and let 'em have it Nigga, so D-Boyz got love for me (E-40) I got love for D-Boyz, cause D-Boyz got love for me I got love for D-Boyz, cause D-Boyz got love for me Nigga got outta line I had to chop him Reached into my draws and pulled out my strap (pull out your strap) Motherfucker got outta place I had to chop him Reached into my fudadalooms and pulled out my strap (pull out your strap) Nigga got outta place, youse got to pop him Reach up in your draws and pull out your strap (pull out your strap) Rookie get outta line you better ice him Reach into your d-dun-dun-duns and pull out your strap (pull out your strap) Just call me Chef Boyardee-Boy, soda for bakin' Cupcakes and cookies, rappies I'm makin' huh Tall cash, can't let eat up my grass Don't make me have to come back and split your parents house in half With my 6RP226-Diana Ross cousin Nina - Mr. Meaner, body bleeder Heartless, empty the cartridge roll Smartless, get out and die so cold Hollow point hot ones dipped in garlic I lives up the bar like an Alcoholic Niggas think that I be bluffin' when I tell 'em I'm a good shot But I'm also into some other things like ice picks and piano strings So bitch, I'm tryin' to get nickerage Open up shop, cotton candy and liquorice, uh (Outro: Spice 1 & E-40) Shoot 'em up now Blaow! Spiggidy one whippin' up on dat ass for nine-four Da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha Shoot 'em up now, byd-a-bye-bye Blaow! (Spiggity sp, sp, spiggity sp, sp, spit nigga hahahahaha) They call me Spiggity one, Spiggity one Me bust a cap up in your ass with big black gun, byd-a-bye-bye Chill man, me roll down the block with my nigga Byd-a-bye-bye, Spiggidy one whippin' up on dat ass Chill man, livin' in the city is a motherfuckin' task (What's a 7-0-7 on er... your trunk nigga?) 5-10 (4-1-5's?), yeah (That's four-fifteens if y'all bitches didn't know) Yeah bitch, stupid ass hoes (Da-tha-tha, sing it with me, da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha, ah yeah) (*Whistling*)