E-40 - Dump, Bust, Blast lyrics

Uh (Uh) come on, aye, aye Roskeezy?
Aye, my, my, turn it up (burps)
Hey Roskeezy? Hey that shit right there, aye
(Talk to me weeplations) , that shit
That's ebbin? Aye that shit smebbin
That shit ebbin?
That shit smebbin, ooh (ooh)

4: 15 showcasing to the max
Got my truck-a ma-jig free
Racing causing anxiety attacks
Pitch black normal tint BOOM BAP!
Fucked around and overheated my Zeus amp
500, oh the hoes, fuck a hoe
These are the things that, uh
You need to know bust him open
Spin open the duct tape and the foil
Eat the rest, and get a pot and let 'em boil
Bullet proof vest, never confess
Keep a bucket full of acid
1-800-888 zippers-on tastic
Clientele, raise 'em high raise 'em low
Out on bail, everybody hit the floor

Dump, Bust, Blast, Dump, Bust
Dump, Bust, Blast, Dump, Bust (ooh)
Dump, Bust, Blast, Dump, Bust
Dump, Bust (BEOTCH) Blast

Slurp slip, deep throat, shit I'm outta sight
I like to get my dick
Sucked in - broad daylight
Acting bad on the soil acting tough
Break your ass down like a
12-gauge and call yo' bluff
Ignore a fool, that's what they holler
Snatch his bootsee ass up by the collar
Law enforcement agents got me and
My dudes up under investigation
We hot like jalapenos
Man, how come niggas can't put
Their money together like Filipinos?
Life support, can you bring him back?
He was one of them enemies that tried to
Participate in Swiss cheesin'
My clean-ass Cadillac
My Cadillac, my Pontiac I mean
My under-bucket hoopty parked on Magazine

Dump, Bust, Blast, Dump, Bust
Dump, Bust, Blast, Dump, Bust (ooh)
Dump, Bust, Blast, Dump, Bust
Dump, Bust (BEOTCH) Blast
Dump, Bust, Blast, Dump, Bust
Dump, Bust, Blast, Dump, Bust (ooh)
Dump, Bust, Blast, Dump, Bust
Dump, Bust (BEOTCH) Blast

Check it out (check it out)
Third verse, let's begin let's be gone
I done served more water than, uh, Evian
Posted up like a thumbtack
On the boulevard serving dead
Yola, ice cream, Ben and Jerry (Jer)
Been doing somethings, cigars and pinky rings
I'm a fixture up in this shit
Like E-40 and the Click
Paper all up under my box spring mattress
Choppers on top of the fridge
Automatics in the kitchen cabinets
Man I kill a motherfucker over mathematics
Haters gon' hate, but they don't count
Nigga hustle
The dope game runs on two things
(what's that?) money and muscle
Do some Gotti, Fourth of July your party
Laid his "supposed-to-be so-called
Hardest-nigga-in your-town" ass
Down in front of everybody