Rapper's Ball Lyrics

E-40 - Rapper's Ball Lyrics

  Send "Rapper's Ball" Ringtone to Cell Phone  

Rapper's 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 $hort



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 $hort 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 $hort 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 $hort



K-Ci $hort 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 motherf**kers 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 f**kin, fat bitches

All work and no play, I do it everyday

anyway 'cause 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, 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 'cause 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, 'cause 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 $hort



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)