E-40 - Quarterbackin' (DJ Quick Remix) lyrics

[Intro] [Malice] E-40 and the Clipse, yeah [E-40] {*cut and scratch "The Quarterback"*} [Verse 1 - Malice] Tell the cops don't read into it, them days of slangin Yay been finished, them days have been done ended So far gone them days that I'm offended Snitches can't speak my name till they get winded Can't you tell there's been a switch made? Now fellas decide, that they wanna run and tell like in the 5th grade But I'm too gone, young'n be clear Even when you see me, I am not really there And I ain't play fair, wit my eye on the enemy Huggin the block just me and my mini-me Did it and lived it, grinded here Cops feelin where my crotch at, find it yeah Not only was I in the game I was gifted in it Served food to the fiends and we called them dinners Put the raw wit the fakeout, mixed it in it Can't explain it, cats hustle guess it just was in us, Malicious [Chorus - E-40] If you got the turn cracking and ya money's stackin' Ya, quarterbackin', quarterbackin' Leader of the squad and you're the team captain Ya, quarterbackin', quarterbackin' Got a little change and you're driving a Range Ya, quarterbackin', quarterbackin' If you're sound system bangs and you're pushin them thangs Ya, quarterbackin', quarterbackin' [Verse 2 - E-40] Might not know what I'm talking about, if you ain't never lived it I see you'd a done it, see fiends vomit Green stuff I had to clean it up wit Comet Mean stuff, so many d**hs my streets is haunted Believe us, you shoulda seen us Like Wild E. Coyote make super genius Gets a lots like Serena and Venus I only had a couple jobs in my life But not too many thought I was grown Who woulda thought I'd sell my scale for a microphone And be rapping about it up in this song, sliding on some chrome Uh, this long money I earn, I'm bald-headed But I used to have a Lord Jesus perm (Lord Jesus perm) When my name was Earl, before the rap game Running from Secret Squirrel, I had my own thang I was raised by wolves, hyenas and barracudas, gorillas and bulls, uh [Chorus] [Verse 3 - Pusha T] I play the field like Vick, from endzone to endzone Serve that ish like snow cones in the hood And trench in the gutter, I was lost to the good Cause I make gat stutta, like an O.G. should Mama's lookin', so mistooken Night's in the kitchen, thought I never finish cookin' Way before, paid for this here that I'm mouthin' Nineteen years young, upward of eighty-thousand Trust me young'n, Pusha was never browsin' for nothing Section 8, housing; I'm stomping through like King Kong Claiming his home his jungle Mumblers beware the hood hate singers I connect block to corner like Jenga Fall never, you seen em Posting in ya hood, leaning fiends like the Tower of Piza Damn he's good [Chorus x2] [Outro - E-40] Uh! Now of course ya know I ain't talking about sports (The Quarterback) I'm talking bout runnin' some sh** I'm taking about orchestrating and illustrating And glorifying yo paper route Getting out there hustling, grittin and grindin Doing yo thug thizzle, magigledale Quarterbackin man, hustlin' mayne Trust that manye, yeah in real life mayne Some call it pitchin', some call it grindin' We call it quarterbackin' Yeah and I ain't talking about sports Trust that, oooh-ah {*cut and scratch "The Quarterback"*} - [Til fade]