Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song 411, artist - George Duke. Album song Illusions, in the genre ДжазDate of issue: 19.01.1995
Record label: Warner
Song language: English
411 |
| Why you all in my business |
| Why you really really want to know the 4−1-1 |
| Is it cause that my game’s tight |
| I can scoop a bitch and fuck her on the same night |
| It was a, Saturday evening bout seven at night |
| White T, white thongs pockets feeling alright |
| I got a, call from one of my carmel chicks |
| She said I mean be careful I think they talking on some hate shit |
| Despite the talk of the town, I’ma be there |
| For 45 minutes when you hear the horn come down |
| And when she climbed in, I received a kiss and a hug |
| In a minute take off your shoes on a white persian rug |
| Wave your number rolling going to get bent |
| Why they sure call thugs mugging I see him right through the tent |
| He had the nerve enough to tap on my glass |
| But he ain’t had enough light to peek in but I almost blast his ass |
| Is it cause that I’m known to bust |
| So quick to bump a bad bitch that y’all known to trust |
| So when you see me on them thangs in the cadillac truck |
| Man don’t even know me when you see your bitch in the back or front |
| Foul, god damn you hagging |
| Sixteen block my wall you want to block my magic |
| Now you wondering no what Nitty be doing |
| While these bitches trying to find out who am I screwing |
| And I’m so, sick and tired of the motherfucking gossip |
| And I’m, sick and tired of the motherfucking coppers |
| They actually post up at the end of my block |
| Take a hoe from her spot just for trying to plot |
| (*cop voice*) |
| And I’m like, damn friendly why you all on me |
| Man I’m out here slanging records shit I stopped selling weed |
| Tell me, are you mad cause you see what I drive |
| Or are you checking out these broads with the big ass thighs |
| It be my main bitch, getting on my last nerves |
| Closest now to the edge from getting kicked to the curb |
| She got a homegirl, all up in her hair |
| Maybe they just meant my hair’s longer than her’s |
| And I’m, sick of them haters that be all in my shit |
| Everytime I turn around somebody always be talking bout Twist |
| Want to know who got a baby by me, what does he drive, where my tip |
| Be all in my bidness because they heard that I’ve been bumping they chick |
| I ain’t no lie, if I scoop your bitch up |
| I will, If I get scratch from her |
| Fold it up, if I tell her bend over |
| She won’t get up, if I give up the bunch |
| What you need to know fo', you the player po-po |
| Steady beeking and poking paranoia smoking on too much doe-doe |
| Creeping all in my bid' no since I first splurged on a Rego |
| I got birds when I see you, I’m starting to think you work for them people |
| Hurt 'em when I tell 'em, I think you better ease up, cause everybody |
| Know you no G when it come to the money put some g’s up |
| Until you hip lock and freeze up, you might as well |
| Turn around and go like the other way when I see you |
| See me riding real slick thick and rolling on thangs |
| Got the misses and the bitches wanna know my name |
| They want to know what I’m on |
| Get the fuck up out of mine homie go on and get your own |
| Riding slick with the cherry wood grain |
| In my big boy truck with the candy paint |
| Why, bitches giving me brain |
| I know you want to ball like me but you can’t |
| Stay the fuck up out my business man |