E-40 - Bass Rocks lyrics
[E-40 - Bass Rocks lyrics]
Bass rocks, nigga bass rocks, nigga
Get your cake up cake up, nigga
Still in the loop like a hula hoop
Still connected like a router
Got a line on the powder
Still got a whole lot of power
Still the same muthafucka you
Met a while ago, a real one
Not a hoe, being thorough is all I know
I’m a pro at getting dough
Or should I say guap
If I had to, I could cook a ki in a wok
Bust my Glock
My 2-2 nickel across a hater face
Break his fuckin’ jaw
Knock his teeth out so he can’t taste
Have him eating out a straw
For disrespecting a staple
Get your car riddled
Split in half like a bagel
Fuckin’ around in the yola game
Gotta be careful they’ll rob for dinero
Pull up in all-black apparel
Hit their target like an arrow
Shoot you in your bone marrow
Tear up out in a Chevy souped up Camaro
BIATCH!
("Bass", "Bass rocks" "Bass rocks")
See he throws the whole unit in
A big ass gumbo pot
Foam, stir, let it settle to make it lot
Take it out of the oowop and let it dry
Doing what I gotta do to get by
Yola I supply, break it down into zips
Halfs, quarters, kibbles n bit's
Overkill, extras, it’s all in the wrist
They’ll walk from Cali to Texas long
As they get they fix
Pitching no-hitters and shutouts
You get my drift
The players on plug with that
I cop from them when the drought ‘bout to hit
Everybody that I know got a banger
Extended clip
Rather be caught with than without
Some real shit
He got too much time on his hands
I ain’t got no time to be playin’
He too busy trippin’ off
Somebody else’s wealth
I’m too busy stacking dollars
Taller than myself bIATCH!
("Bass", "Bass rocks" "Bass rocks")
All money ain’t good money and every
Time ain’t the right time
I don’t be out here stuntin’, clumsy
Looking like a plate of swidnine
I be under on the tuck
Sitting soft with the seat reclined
Looking out for the smirchers
The kind that pull on the side
And try to slather a player
Arm out the window from the blind
Hit your nigga at a exit
A light or a stop sign even I was broke
You wouldn’t know it ‘cause I’m hella laced
I hibernate ‘til I’m up again
Won’t show my face
‘Cause they used to me looking a certain way
‘bout my pay
Since the ‘80s I’ve been having it
My way to this day
I’m an inner-city icon from the 7’s
Where they go from the
Shoulders and tote weapons
Got that fire like a welder
Banked up like a ready teller
Correctional institution
Revenge and retribution
They’ll steal you out here, mayne
And I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout boostin’
Be ‘bout it, my nigga, or do it movin’
BIATCH!
Get your cake up cake up, nigga
Still in the loop like a hula hoop
Still connected like a router
Got a line on the powder
Still got a whole lot of power
Still the same muthafucka you
Met a while ago, a real one
Not a hoe, being thorough is all I know
I’m a pro at getting dough
Or should I say guap
If I had to, I could cook a ki in a wok
Bust my Glock
My 2-2 nickel across a hater face
Break his fuckin’ jaw
Knock his teeth out so he can’t taste
Have him eating out a straw
For disrespecting a staple
Get your car riddled
Split in half like a bagel
Fuckin’ around in the yola game
Gotta be careful they’ll rob for dinero
Pull up in all-black apparel
Hit their target like an arrow
Shoot you in your bone marrow
Tear up out in a Chevy souped up Camaro
BIATCH!
("Bass", "Bass rocks" "Bass rocks")
See he throws the whole unit in
A big ass gumbo pot
Foam, stir, let it settle to make it lot
Take it out of the oowop and let it dry
Doing what I gotta do to get by
Yola I supply, break it down into zips
Halfs, quarters, kibbles n bit's
Overkill, extras, it’s all in the wrist
They’ll walk from Cali to Texas long
As they get they fix
Pitching no-hitters and shutouts
You get my drift
The players on plug with that
I cop from them when the drought ‘bout to hit
Everybody that I know got a banger
Extended clip
Rather be caught with than without
Some real shit
He got too much time on his hands
I ain’t got no time to be playin’
He too busy trippin’ off
Somebody else’s wealth
I’m too busy stacking dollars
Taller than myself bIATCH!
("Bass", "Bass rocks" "Bass rocks")
All money ain’t good money and every
Time ain’t the right time
I don’t be out here stuntin’, clumsy
Looking like a plate of swidnine
I be under on the tuck
Sitting soft with the seat reclined
Looking out for the smirchers
The kind that pull on the side
And try to slather a player
Arm out the window from the blind
Hit your nigga at a exit
A light or a stop sign even I was broke
You wouldn’t know it ‘cause I’m hella laced
I hibernate ‘til I’m up again
Won’t show my face
‘Cause they used to me looking a certain way
‘bout my pay
Since the ‘80s I’ve been having it
My way to this day
I’m an inner-city icon from the 7’s
Where they go from the
Shoulders and tote weapons
Got that fire like a welder
Banked up like a ready teller
Correctional institution
Revenge and retribution
They’ll steal you out here, mayne
And I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout boostin’
Be ‘bout it, my nigga, or do it movin’
BIATCH!