Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Made It Out , by - E-40. Release date: 24.11.2016
Song language: English
Made It Out |
| UH! |
| She love me… she love me not |
| She hug me… like I hug the block |
| My Cutty… got hella knock |
| My speakers… they finna pop |
| Turf tight… I'm involved |
| High-sidin', puffin' on a log |
| Stunning, the opposite of ugly |
| Run up in her bare like I don’t care |
| Without a helmet, rugby |
| Everywhere like, yeah, you liable to see me in Santa Clara |
| On the highway with my bros on my way to Santana Row |
| In San Jose, they don’t play like all the cities up in the Bay |
| Up in the Valley, they’ll melt you just like my folks from the Delta |
| The Emerald Triangle, that’s where the farmers be at |
| Sippin' mangoscato from Napa, Earl Stevens shit |
| Brand new apparel, mayne, I stay sharp as an arrow |
| I like to drink out the bottle, yesterday, today and tomorrow |
| UH! |
| We started off in the projects (projects) |
| Now we sittin' in the high-rise (high-rise) |
| The real niggas all fuck with me (fuck with me) |
| The hood love me ‘cause I made it out (made it out) |
| UH! |
| I did… I did that |
| In 1985 I pushed my first pack |
| Admit it… admit that |
| Quit the yola game and wrote some ridnaps |
| Soil savage… born to ball |
| Married to the streets by common-law |
| Mackin', autographs on napkins |
| My diamonds be out here spazzin' |
| Showcasin', flamboastin', braggin' |
| Gouda stackin' his pillar, about his paper |
| More cars than the AutoTrader |
| Done touched more dough than a baker |
| One day might be in a hoodie, the next day I’m in a blazer |
| Customized by my tailor, got some killers that owe me favors |
| They’re thicker the soil up in the heart of the trap |
| Don’t get mad and come back, get down or get mad at |
| They’ll put your brain in your lap for showing off in front of a batch |
| Tryin' to impress a hoe, that’s how you get a tag on your toe |
| UH! |
| I came up from nothin' (From the mud) |
| I bend corners when I come through |
| ‘Cause the real niggas, they love it (They love it, mayne) |
| To see me living by my own rules |
| And I think nothin' of it (Nothin' of it) |
| From fishscales to a tycoon (A top hat, mayne) |
| Yeah, I always get money (Self-made) |
| Yeah, I always get money (I get money) |
| I got it… I got my money up |
| I done touched more ice than a hockey puck |
| You can try your luck, I keep my pistol tucked |
| In case I gotta fuck a fuck nigga up |
| Block monster… I'm a hog |
| Hustlin' in the rain, sleet, snow or fog |
| Bossy, ain’t never been a sorry simple Simon |
| Sucka sap, I’m smoking on a baseball bat |
| Gettin' Berkeleyed and tipsyed, I fuck with hipsters and hippies |
| Gangsters and fixtures and factors, might even know a few traffickers |
| Dual exhausted Flowmasters, cool with the athletes and rappers |
| Know hella A-listed actors, boosters, burglars, and purse-snatchers |
| The Pacific Ocean is where the paper unravel |
| Google, Pandora, and Twitter, Facebook and Apple |
| A fixture, I built my own liquor straight from the gravel |
| Subscribe to a bar of this game and come get a sample |
| UH! |