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Rappers' Ball

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  • Текст, перевод и аккорды “Rappers' Ball”

  • featuring Too $hort, K-Ci Where them naked hoes at? E-Feezey! Too Scheezy! We off the heezy fo'scheezy baby! Off the heezy I thought you theezy!! Niggaz ain't havin no cheesy like us main! They ain't havin no raveez! Shit. Haha you know us. Where K-Ceeezi at man? Tell him sing that shit. Lace dem fools or something. Beotch! Chorus: K-Ci Say that you got it all Love the way you players ball Everyday you're at the mall Tell me is it true or false Say that you got it all Love the way you players ball Claimin that your mail is tall Tell me is it true or false Verse One: E-40, Too $hort I put my mack hand down ain't never been asound I was havin b-r-e-a-d way before this rap game nigga been town Thought you theezy, for sheezy, niggaz 'member Earl, Brat, and Denell dem boys from Vallel At every light it's automatic, BURN RUBBER See my folkers in the traffic, WHASSUP ERB Follow that cab it got dope in it, uhh My potnah $hort got hoes in it I'm always hearin rappers big ballin on they songs I do that shit for real and you'll never say I'm wrong S-500 straight sittin on twenties TV in the dash pimpin hoes gettin money I'm Too $hort baby been down since the eighties For the last eight years rode around in a Mercedes Lexus, trucks, drop-Vette, Caddy Bitches don't call me by my name they call me daddy Chorus Verse Two: E-40, Too $hort K-Ci $hort E-40 Fonzarelli I'll probably never have long money like Ross Perilli But shit we just want a hip Don't want the whole plate Don't put the two on the ten, don't ever perpetrate Like a lot of these fools I see on TV With the Armani Chanel Versus Versacci Why motherfuckers can't be broke sometimes? Sometimes it's cool to floss But don't buy an eighty-five thousand dollar car Before you buy a house They always said I couldn't rap, I just say bitch I guess the bitch, made me rich And now you wanna call me hardcore While I be steppin out the shower on a marble floor I paid the IRS taxes send FedEx and faxes This industry'll is like fuckin, fat bitches All work and no play, I do it everyday anyway cuz I gotta stay paid 40 Chorus Verse Three: E-40, Too $hort We throw parties on big-ass boats, niggaz wrap they paper Ultrafied all-inclusive trips, Montego Jamaica Front row seats at the Ultimate Fights, shamrock and severin Long expensive fuh-flights, up dere in the heavens Fat ass royalty checks, fat ass cribs Smokin blunts and drinkin brew on the blacony, barbecuin ribs The more scrilla, the merrier I represent the Ya area I walk from Foothill and Paperscourt to Sixty-Seven MacArthur To Freddie B house to make tapes with my potnah Hit Arroyo Park, we had tapes for sale Got a paper bag full of that, can't you tell it's funky, everybody nod they head like this I said bitch, and everybody read my lips I got rich, suckin up the game from the O and even though a lot of rappers got the same kind of flow I survived cuz I got mo', game than them It came straight from the prostitutes, players, and pimps It was my destiny, I came the same every time So don't question me, I transfer the game in the rhymes I'm not a freestyler, don't rap for free main It's Paystyle on mine, cuz I love money main Landrovers and Toyota, Lexuses Six-hundred feet twelve with them big ass motor Mercedeses We don't be savin hoes, bitches be savin us Bitch disrespect me in my car, bitch best to catch the bus I keep a briefcase full of game, while y'all be ear-hustlin Ain't no paperback pimpin nigga, we ain't strugglin Chorus Verse Four: Too $hort I'm Shorty the Pimp, I come funky Again and again, they say when will it end? Maybe never, cause I can still spit it But I ain't rappin for cheese, I want meal tickets Gotta start somewhere, and I'm past that For the right scratch, I be the last mack So stick yaself Pretty Tony You tryin ta make a hit, but your shit sounds phony Not like AT&T but like ET You can't be me, so would you please see If you can keep my name out your mouth Cause you don't really know what the game's all about It's bout feedin the family, not freakin in the Benz Instead of rentin, pay for that roof on your head And stop pimpin in your mind knowin you a trick Put your hustle down playa go an hit you a lick Bitch! (That's writ, Too Scheezi, Ant Banks, Forty Fonzarelli, K-Ci) Damn is that right? (That's right)

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