E-40 - D-Boyz Got Love For Me lyrics

(Intro: Spice 1) What's wrong n***a? What's wrong huh? You scared n***a? You scared? What, you can't talk with a motherf**in' gun in your mouth n***a? I'm gonna give you a three count I'mma blow your motherf**in' brains out One, what you think about, what you thinkin'? Don't cry, two (I don't slip motherf**er) (*Gun blast*) Nineteen motherf**in' nine-fo' comin' at cha Gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gangsta Spice motherf**in' 1 (Spice 1) I eat they a** up like a Swanson with the Thompson Fo'-fever, leave a - motherf**in' cryin 'fore he take his last breather So come along take a trip to the dope track Where the young n***as be takin' your car and be peelin' your cap back That's why it's A to the motherf**in' K Keeps a fat gat for the funk in the East Bay Mainy off 'yac, I'm goin' brain dead inside Talkin' to my homies 'Scratchy' tellin' me he wanna ride On the n***a that peeled his cap so now I'm on the streets With the dead motherf**er in the pa**enger seat And it's fo' to the motherf**in' five G-a-gat that a** leave 'em dead in the ?eyes? Red Rum on the late night, catch my case right at the crack hut n***as better back up, while I fix my sack up Pistol whip, sh**, kick that a** quick Quick to rip sh**, cause I'm a Coca Cola Cla**ic O.G. and D-Boyz got love for me, D-Boyz got love for me (*Interlude*) (E-40) Da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha Da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha (Spice 1) I'mma chuck a dead body on your motherf**in' lawn Light ya up like Red Dawn, n***a I be ready to funk it's on So call up the Paramedics and tell 'em that you're done n***a I roll strapped with no love upon my f**in' trigger I lets my hair platt, and took his mail stack Now he's a stiff black, cause I was ?at that? I'm dumpin' these n***as in ditches back to back Hangin' they a** from telephone posts To leavin' 'em naked and bleedin' without no money Gun me, ho n***as wanna do that, do that But I go out and get a new gat, new gat and let 'em have it n***a, so D-Boyz got love for me (E-40) I got love for D-Boyz, cause D-Boyz got love for me I got love for D-Boyz, cause D-Boyz got love for me n***a got outta line I had to chop him Reached into my drawers and pulled out my strap (pull out your strap) Motherf**er got outta place I had to chop him Reached into my fruit of the looms and pulled out my strap (pull out your strap) n***a got outta place, youse got to pop him Reach up in your draws and pull out your strap (pull out your strap) Rookie get outta line you better ice him Reach into your d-dun-dun-duns and pull out your strap (pull out your strap) Just call me Chef Boyar-D-Boy, soda for bakin' Cupcakes and cookies, rappies I'm makin' huh Tall cash, can't let he cut my gra** Don't make me have to come back and split your parents house in half With my Sig-Sauer P226-Diana Ross cousin Nina - Mr. Meaner, body bleeder Heartless, empty the cartridge roll Smartless, get out of dodge, so cold Hollow point hot ones dipped in garlic I lives at the bar like an Alcoholic n***as think that I be bluffin' when I tell 'em I'm a good shot But I'm also into some other things like ice picks and piano strings b**h, I'm tryin' to get n***a rich Open up shop, cotton candy and licorice, uh (Outro: Spice 1 & E-40) 40 water, 40 water Me come to gatcha up and leave with 40 water Shoot 'em up now 40 water, 40 water Me come to gatcha up and leave with 40 water (in this bich) Blaow! Spiggidy one whippin' up on dat a** for nine-four Da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha (muthaf**in rumble b**h) 40 water, 40 water Me come to gatcha up and leave with 40 water Shoot 'em up now 40 water, 40 water Me come to gatcha up and leave with 40 water Byd a bye bye Blaow! (Spiggity sp, sp, spiggity sp, sp, spit n***a hahahahaha) They call me Spiggity one, Spiggity one Me bust a cap up in your a** with big black gun, biddy-a-bye-bye (Spiggity sp, Spiggity Spice one in this bich E-40 in this bich) Yeah man, me roll down the block with my n***a 40 water, 40 water Me come to gatcha up and leave with 40 water Byd-a-bye-bye, Spiggidy one whippin' up on dat a** Yeah man, livin' in the city is a motherf**in' task (This sh** will rumble your muthaf**in trunk. What's a 7-0-7 on er... your trunk n***a?) 5-10 (4-1-5's?), yeah (That's four-fifteens if y'all b**hes didn't know, yeah bich) Yeah b**h, stupid a** hoes (Da-tha-tha, sing it with me, da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha, ah yeah) (*Whistling*)