E-40 - Stack It to the Ceiling lyrics

Ever since I woke up this morning
I've been on
Twist the cap up off my weed jar
And smoked a cone
Took a shower and got gone in the wind
Like Steve Wynn
I'm from the streets of California where
We be hustlin and grittin'
Gettin' that women, mobbin' and mackin'
Droppin' and stackin'
Wheelin' and dealin' and makin' a killin'
Trying to hit a million
Perkin' and illin' and drinkin' and chillin'
In front of the apartment building
Packin' and totin' and toast the
Lean oh what a feelin'
He's a fraudulent, I'm immaculate
He a simp, he a sap, he irrelevant
I'm a boss, I'm a factor
I'm a hundred percent
I'm a hustler like Larry Flynt
Getting money's my habit
I stay in the traffic
Papered up like a tablet
My bankroll is massive
If I walked in a loser
Mayne I'm gonna walk out a winner
I ball like a hooper man
Papered up like a printer
I ain't wrapped too tight, I'm touched
I'm throwed mental health
Argue with my conscience cursin' out myself
My psychologist got a psychologist
Neurologist too
I'm one of one, I'm not like you
Act like you know
Dippin' and bobbin' and weavin'
In and out of traffic
From the morning to the evening
Trying to get my paper right, my nigga
Stack it to the ceiling

Drinking and blowing on some good bud
Smokin' on a strain you never heard of
Exclusive shit, I got it from my plugs
You drop my weed on my rug
That's twenty pushups, that's a party foul
You can do 'em later or do 'em now
I don't allow (who?)
Aliens around me, that's a no no
They'll try to sneak me and
Turn my brains into adobo
Rarely see me solo, if you do I'm not
Best believe E-40 with his 45 Glock
I'm ADHD, need something to calm my nerves
You libel to find me at my
Kid's teacher's meeting smellin' like herb
I stay plastered, but I'm all about my paper
Liquor aroma, that's me in the elevator
More whips than Auto Trader
That's what I got
Driveway, looks like a car lot
My bite is stronger than my bark
Thought you thought, heart
Bitch you full of shit like a dog park
Mark ass poodle, square as a cubicle
Weirdo, unusual why do suckas
Be all in a real one's business?
While these sideline niggas be always trying
To count a hustler's chizznips
Flappin' their lizznips like some bitches
Man they saps
Dudes be running their mouth like that
We call 'em quack-quacks
That's how a bitch gets smack-smacked
Shot in the naps, clapped head put on flap
Fix-a-Flat can't even bring 'em back (bitch)

Act like you know
Dippin' and bobbin and weavin'
In and out of traffic
From the morning to the evening
Trying to get my paper right, my nigga
Stack it to the ceiling

…to the ceiling