Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Stack It to the Ceiling, artist - E-40.
Date of issue: 24.11.2016
Song language: English
Stack It to the Ceiling |
Ever since I woke up this morning, I’ve been on |
Twist the cap up off my weed jar, and smoked a cone |
Took a shower and got gone in the wind, like Steve Wynn |
I’m from the streets of California where we be hustlin and grittin' |
Gettin' that women, mobbin' and mackin', droppin' and stackin' |
Wheelin' and dealin' and makin' a killin' trying to hit a million |
Perkin' and illin' and drinkin' and chillin' in front of the apartment building |
Packin' and totin' and toast the lean oh what a feelin' |
He’s a fraudulent, I’m immaculate |
He a simp, he a sap, he irrelevant |
I’m a boss, I’m a factor, I’m a hundred percent |
I’m a hustler like Larry Flynt |
Getting money’s my habit, I stay in the traffic |
Papered up like a tablet, my bankroll is massive |
If I walked in a loser, mayne I’m gonna walk out a winner |
I ball like a hooper man, papered up like a printer |
I ain’t wrapped too tight, I’m touched, I’m throwed |
Mental health, argue with my conscience cursin' out myself |
My psychologist got a psychologist, neurologist too |
I’m one of one, I’m not like you |
Act like you know |
Dippin' and bobbin' and weavin' |
In and out of traffic, from the morning to the evening |
Trying to get my paper right, my nigga |
Stack it to the ceiling |
Drinking and blowing on some good bud |
Smokin' on a strain you never heard of |
Exclusive shit, I got it from my plugs |
You drop my weed on my rug |
That’s twenty pushups, that’s a party foul |
You can do 'em later or do 'em now |
I don’t allow (who?) |
Aliens around me, that’s a no-no |
They’ll try to sneak me and turn my brains into adobo |
Rarely see me solo, if you do I’m not |
Best believe E-40 with his .45 Glock |
I’m ADHD, need something to calm my nerves |
You libel to find me at my kid’s teacher’s meeting smellin' like herb |
I stay plastered, but I’m all about my paper |
Liquor aroma, that’s me in the elevator |
More whips than Auto Trader, that’s what I got |
Driveway, looks like a car lot |
My bite is stronger than my bark |
Thought you thought, heart |
Bitch you full of shit like a dog park |
Mark ass poodle, square as a cubicle |
Weirdo, unusual |
Why do suckas, be all in a real one’s business? |
While these sideline niggas be always trying to count a hustler’s chizznips |
Flappin' their lizznips like some bitches, man they saps |
Dudes be running their mouth like that, we call 'em quack-quacks |
That’s how a bitch gets smack-smacked |
Shot in the naps, clapped |
Head put on flap, Fix-a-Flat can’t even bring 'em back (bitch) |
Act like you know |
Dippin' and bobbin and weavin' |
In and out of traffic, from the morning to the evening |
Trying to get my paper right, my nigga |
Stack it to the ceiling |
…to the ceiling |