Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Mouthpiece, artist - E-40. Album song Charlie Hustle: The Blueprint of a Self-Made Millionaire, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 17.08.1999
Record label: Sick Wit It
Song language: English
Mouthpiece |
I don’t need no iron I’m already creased |
I don’t need no money I got mouthpiece |
Thug wit me who got that indo nigga mug wit me Stick yo’pistol out the window have a few drinks wit me Nigga get fired up Out of state dummy license plate faulty ass tags |
Trunk full of out door weed back seat full of garbage bags |
Lookin’fo’that money train lookin’fo’that treasure |
Like to fuck alot mix the business wit the pleasure |
What’s up you timer when you gone resign |
Put a soul food restaurant in yo’mamas name and own your own clothing line |
Ain’t no tellin' |
that’s what Harold told Melvin back in the days of penny loafs |
When Teddy Pendegrass was in the blue notes |
A big lip street nigga was in the makin’a ferocious dangerous dude |
A little microscopic seed maranatin’in the fallopian tube |
Ready to face the world ready to say my speech |
Ready to come out early feet first nigga breeched |
Uno uno dos tres quattro |
Drinkin’malt liquor out the baby bottle |
Five five six six seven eight |
Move from the crest side to the hillside |
Go ahead ask the v.p.d. |
Betcha they tell you about me Betcha they tell you they been investigatin’my ass since '83 |
Betcha they say dude real, |
betcha they say I don’t know how that nigga did it but he sittin’on a few mill |
All I gotta say is nemesis |
Bet I know one thing betch you they know |
who shot my mommas house up that night on magazine |
Should I say I wanna take a face nah |
cause if the district attorney get this tape they might build a case |
I’m high as fuck man inhalin’it beatin’on my chest like Tarzan |
Hold it fo’ten |
Five lucky to be alive |
I only got one mo’album to do on jive, an’I’m gone |
I don’t need no iron I’m already creased |
I don’t need no money Igot mouthpiece |
Let’s go half on a forty an’a twamp sack of broccoli |
I got a car deville coupty |
So what if its primer colored so what it’s a hooptie |
So what if the lifters tick I knwo I’m forty water |
So what if I gotta get up under the engine an’tap the starter |
In the mourning eatin’cereal |
Strapped with the 223 infrared material |
Who come from nothin’who run the thirteen hundred block |
Who used to top have to walk the streets floodin’wit holes in they socks |
Who really real, how many know the deal |
Who got they church clothed from the good will |
Click shit makes a muthafuckas night |
Niggas listen to it 'cause it’s right |
Money don’t make me, I make money |
What I look like fuckin’over a broad, playboy I’m a macaroni |
I mean that bitch got miles on her she’s a ho |
I mean that bitch can teach the wind how to blow |
She’s a pro groupie though |
Zulu jocka binaca |
The hood head knocka' |
I don’t need no iron I’m already creased |
I don’t need no money I got mouthpiece |
Sometimes I’m suited up sometimes I don’t care |
When I’m grindin’I don’t brush my teeth or comb my hair |
When I’m timin’I like to buy drinks |
When I’m timin’it’s louie the thirteenth |
Ballers you know how we livin' |
You know how we meet 'em in the parking lot at popeye’s chicken |
I can mesmerize a hoe by jowsin |
Can you make a g look like ten thousand |
Where all my ghetto tycoon, beanie caps, and kangols |
Where all my niggas wit them federal beepers on they ankles |
Where all the hood-hoe dick teasers |
Where all my beautiful black intelligent divas |
I dont’need no iron I’m already creased |
I don’t need no money I got mouthpiece |