(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'mma blow your motherfuckin' brains out
One, what you think about, what you thinkin'?
Don't cry, two (I don't slip 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 Swanson with the Thompson
Fo'-fever, leave a - motherfuckin' cryin 'fore he take his last breather
So come along take a trip to the dope track
Where the young niggas be takin' your car and be peelin' your cap back
That's why it's A to the motherfuckin' K
Keeps a fat gat for the funk in the East Bay
Mainy off 'yac, 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 ?eyes?
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'mma chuck a dead body on your motherfuckin' lawn
Light ya up like Red Dawn, nigga I be ready to funk it's on
So call up the Paramedics and tell 'em that you're done 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 naked and bleedin' without no money
Gun me, ho 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 drawers and pulled out my strap (pull out your strap)
Motherfucker got outta place I had to chop him
Reached into my fruit of the looms 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 Boyar-D-Boy, soda for bakin'
Cupcakes and cookies, rappies I'm makin' huh
Tall cash, can't let he cut my grass
Don't make me have to come back and split your parents house in half
With my Sig-Sauer P226-Diana Ross cousin Nina - Mr. Meaner, body bleeder
Heartless, empty the cartridge roll
Smartless, get out of dodge, so cold
Hollow point hot ones dipped in garlic
I lives at 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
Bitch, I'm tryin' to get nigga rich
Open up shop, cotton candy and licorice, uh
(Outro: Spice 1 & E-40)
40 water, 40 water
Me come to gatcha up and leave with 40 water
Shoot 'em up now
40 water, 40 water
Me come to gatcha up and leave with 40 water
(in this bich)
Blaow! Spiggidy one whippin' up on dat ass for nine-four
Da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha (muthafuckin rumble bitch)
40 water, 40 water
Me come to gatcha up and leave with 40 water
Shoot 'em up now
40 water, 40 water
Me come to gatcha up and leave with 40 water
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, biddy-a-bye-bye
(Spiggity sp, Spiggity Spice one in this bich E-40 in this bich)
Yeah man, me roll down the block with my nigga
40 water, 40 water
Me come to gatcha up and leave with 40 water
Byd-a-bye-bye, Spiggidy one whippin' up on dat ass
Yeah man, livin' in the city is a motherfuckin' task
(This shit will rumble your muthafuckin trunk. 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 bich)
Yeah bitch, stupid ass hoes
(Da-tha-tha, sing it with me, da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha, ah yeah)
(*Whistling*)
