| Damn nigga, ay where Mikey at mayne?
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| Ay, ay Droop-E, Droop-E! |
| You old enough to drink nigga?
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| Whassup cousin? |
| (Whassup tycoon, what’s goin on?)
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| It’s your young nephew Turkey mayne
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| (What is it boy? What’s goin on family?)
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| There’s a lot of shit that need to be said big cousin
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| (Talk to me, I’ll talk back)
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| First of all I’ma start by just sayin we can’t be fucked with
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| And you know it!!! |
| (Ooooh)
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| Got all the whole hood in this motherfucker (the whole soil)
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| Sick Wid It nigga (now) been runnin this shit
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| Look out pimp!
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| Oyster Perpetual, cushion cut bezel
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| I’m busy I ain’t even had time to eat a fortune cookie
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| Since I signed with BME every promoter
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| and every agency in the industry been tryin to book me Mackin-ass 40, what that do?
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| Sometimes me, always you
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| Man you a real-ass nigga, man you a boss
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| If I had yo’hand I woulda been done cut mine off
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| A cult following, hustlers they love me Kill a tree and put a rock in the hospital over me If you see me up in the mountains with a lion, I ain’t lyin
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| Nigga don’t help me, my nigga help the mountain lion!
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| Uhh, chalupas thousand dollar stacks
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| Turn a couple of ki’s into a couple hundred racks
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| The main drag, the soil, the blacktop
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| The gravel, the D-spot, we open like IHOP
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| Yea mayne! |
| These motherfuckers know!
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| Nigga this is big 40-Water motherfucker!
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| The ambassador of the Bay nigga!
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| Nigga we stay eatin over here motherfucker!
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| You niggaz need to step your motherfuckin weight up nigga
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| Sick Wid It, BME motherfucker
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| Look out pimp!
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| Hit me on my chirp, I got that work
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| Fuck e’rybody else, I got myself on my shirt
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| Better hurry up and come and get 'em we got the lowest rates
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| I’m tellin you pimpin cause they goin like hotcakes
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| Cops come and spoil it we flushin it down the toilet
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| Throw it in the battery acid and then destroy it Pay attention and learn, while I teach you how to grit and grind
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| Fifteen five? |
| All the time (cool)
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| These square-ass rappers, they get a few bucks
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| Then they, lose contact get out of touch
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| With the, with the streets, we stick to the turf like cleets
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| Off the leash, we thirsty we hungry we beasts
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| Look out, watch out, here come the jumpout
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| Hide your dope in your anus, and put the weed out
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| 'Fore they beat us and choke us and take our funds
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| And shoot us with them tazer guns
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| You niggaz’ll get your motherfuckin head knocked off fuckin with us boy
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| Nigga we been doin this shit nigga
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| Niggaz need to bow the fuck down and pay homage nigga
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| Niggaz been stealin our shit for years 40!
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| Niggaz brave to talk around these motherfuckers, WATER!
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| The whole enchilada, the whole taco
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| Motherfucker I’m a capo!
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| Play with hundred round drums
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| Me and my u-salaam (?)
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| A stingy nigga, watch every penny that I spend
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| Go to any hood in the world and fit right in A young nigga, with an old soul
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| A busy nigga, put the President on hold
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| Ride Vogues, 26 inch toes
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| Got the inside of the laws smokin like broke stogs
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| You can find me in the mall, buyin up all the clothes
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| Or in A-T-L or Club 112, throwin them 'bows
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| Left and right arms froze, cold like the ice from the cooler
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| Just left the jeweler, rose gold, Frank Mueller
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| I smoke big, growin weed in my garage
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| Police roll up, I got a cannabis card
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| Wait wait wait! |
| Money. |
| power and respect motherfucker
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| 40 told you niggaz mayne! |
| We hongry nigga!
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| We eat soup with a fork around this bitch mayne!
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| Knahmean? |
| Step your motherfuckin weight up nigga
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| You niggaz pockets is touchin motherfucker
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| You starvin! |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Sick Wid It II, artist - E-40. Album song My Ghetto Report Card, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп