E-40, C Ballin - Blame It on the DJ lyrics

Bla-bla-blame it on the DJ
Bla-blame it on the DJ
Bla-bla-blame it on the DJ
She wanna drop dat, den run it back
(Ru-run it back)
And you can blame it on the DJ
Bla-bla-blame it on the DJ

I'm on like the most requested song
In his eyes, his bitch can do no wrong
In her eyes, look like she wanna jump my bone
Give me dome, blow me like a saxophone
When I pop my P's and
Spit my ism and manipulatin'
I tell her what she wanna hear
And make her feel great
That's mackology, make her feel guilty
Not me
When I'm wrong, I use reverse psychology
When I'm mackin' and stackin'
Mobbin' and mashin', boostin' up my status


From a little young adolescent
To a boss savage
With big dreams and high hopes
To live rich and lavish
Survival skills, mannish, hard headed
Hustlin' tactics
If it ain't no bread involved
Then I can't be involved
Unless you're my relative or my potna, dawg
I ain't wrapped too tight but my
Raps be tight like stingy people
Ain't a ratchet type I'm a
Raspy type like stingy P
DJ, put the record to the needle, OOOUH!

The club goin' crazy, everybody drunk
And you can blame it on the DJ
(Bla-blame it on the DJ)
You can blame it on the DJ
(Bla-bla-blame it on the DJ)
She wanna drop that
(Drop that) , and run it back (Run it back)
And you can blame it on the DJ (On the DJ)
(Bla-bla-blame it on the DJ, On the DJ
OOOUH)

So OG but yet so youthful
They say, "Between me and you, 40 low-key go
I remember when the nigga used to push blow
Now he on the charts and in the record store"
Puttin' on my chain and pendant
Poppin' my collar like a boss
I'm hella long winded, I'll talk your ear off
When it comes to spittin' game, I'm a pro
Don't check me, my nigga, check yo' ho
I'm about this paper, this playa
Sharp like a razor, won't save her
You wanna wife her and date her
And cape her like a crusader
Every time you pay her she pay me
You buy her a Louboutin
I fucked her in my Jeep
In the back seat of my Rubicon
Pussy was da bomb! Like this bubba kush
Brazilian wax, not no Barbara Bush
Smokin' and drinkin' and
Pervin' and swervin'
That's what I specialize in
I like 'em dark but I prefer light skin
BIATCH!

The club goin' crazy, everybody drunk
And you can blame it on the DJ
(Bla-blame it on the DJ)
You can blame it on the DJ
(Bla-bla-blame it on the DJ)
She wanna drop that
(Drop that) , and run it back (Run it back)
And you can blame it on the DJ (On the DJ)
(Bla-bla-blame it on the DJ, On the DJ
OOOUH)

Indoor trees and tobacco leaves
Grind the weed down, no stems, no seeds
Everywhere I go you can smell the aroma
I got some lemon squeeze and a case of Corona
I'm mannish, even when I'm at work
I go to church smellin' like purp
(Stop lyin') you're right
I just needed somethin' to
Rhyme with that line
It's ugly out here, mayne
This the sign of the times
I be knockin' that 40 Water, his beats be it
I fuck with my nigga
He say the randomest shit
I grew up on that nigga
He raised me and my clique
Taught us how to hustle and cook up a brick
How to knock a chick without liftin' a finger
Use my mouthpiece, no misdemeanor
Have money, have heart
Can't be no marshmallow
She came in the thang with
You but left with me, my fella
BIATCH!

The club goin' crazy, everybody drunk
And you can blame it on the DJ
(Bla-blame it on the DJ)
You can blame it on the DJ
(Bla-bla-blame it on the DJ)
She wanna drop that
(Drop that) , and run it back (Run it back)
And you can blame it on the DJ (On the DJ)
(Bla-bla-blame it on the DJ, On the DJ)