Rappers Ball Lyrics by E-40

Rappers Ball Lyrics

    Where them naked hoes at?

    E-Feezey!
    Too Scheezy!
    We off the heezy fo'scheezy baby!
    Off the heezy I thought you theezy!!
    Niggaz ain't havin no cheesy like us main!
    They ain't 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 you're 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

    I put my mack hand down ain't 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 it's automatic, BURN RUBBER
    See my folkers in the traffic, WHASSUP ERB
    Follow that cab it got dope in it, uhh
    My potnah got hoes in it

    I'm always hearin rappers big ballin on they songs
    I do that shit for real and you'll never say I'm wrong
    S-500 straight sittin on twenties
    TV in the dash pimpin hoes gettin money
    I'm Too baby been down since the eighties
    For the last eight years rode around in a Mercedes
    Lexus, trucks, drop-Vette, Caddy
    Bitches don't call me by my name they call me daddy

    Chorus

    Verse Two: E-40, Too

    K-Ci E-40 Fonzarelli
    I'll probably never have long money like Ross Perilli
    But shit we just want a hip
    Don't want the whole plate
    Don't put the two on the ten, don't ever perpetrate
    Like a lot of these fools I see on TV
    With the Armani Chanel Versus Versacci
    Why motherfuckers can't be broke sometimes?
    Sometimes it's cool to floss
    But don't buy an eighty-five thousand dollar car
    Before you buy a house

    They always said I couldn't 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 industry'll 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

    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, can't you tell
    it's 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 don't question me, I transfer the game in the rhymes

    I'm not a freestyler, don't rap for free main
    It's Paystyle on mine, cuz I love money main
    Landrovers and Toyota, Lexuses
    Six-hundred feet twelve with them big ass motor Mercedeses
    We don't 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 y'all be ear-hustlin
    Ain't no paperback pimpin nigga, we ain't strugglin

    Chorus

    Verse Four: Too

    I'm 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 ain't rappin for cheese, I want meal tickets
    Gotta start somewhere, and I'm 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 can't be me, so would you please see
    If you can keep my name out your mouth
    Cause you don't really know what the game's all about
    It's 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!

    (That's writ, Too Scheezi, Ant Banks, Forty Fonzarelli, K-Ci)
    Damn is that right?
    (That's right)

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