The Click - We Don't f** Wit' That lyrics

(B-Legit) Ya see I'm nuttin' but a player call me bad news bear And everywhere a n***a go you know I check a hoe there And on my second time thru, you know how I do I get some head, and some ends and I'm gone by 2 I got soundcheck b**h, the shows is at 6 So when you coming in, bring your womanfriends I got a few dogs posted at my telly D-Shot, Tap, Young Mugz and Celly And we gone try to tear the f**in' roof of something We was backstage smokin' and some hoes was thumpin' A b**h got mad cause she didn't get chose Reached back like a pimp and slapped the hoe Your n***a went wild when he first seen that Pulled out a sack and rolled one fat We was back to the tale cause we bail on them boyz in blue f**in' wit this Click crew And the worst things that happens when your out of the state They lock a n***a down and take away his dank It makes me can't thank, I gets nervous and sick Fiendin' for a motherf**in' fix Chorus: (E-40) Smoke and we will go Puffin' on indo So put that back Cause we don't f** wit that (B-Legit) I left Minnesota cause the spot was tired Hit Louiville and the spot was fire Old school sittin' on straight laced kicks Reminding me of 1986 Fools burnin' rubber, f** some switches n***as from the bay smokin' up on b**hes B was on the gash, smashin' yo Hoes pa**in' out cause there to much smoke Gary, Indiana, b**h gone in a minute I let you hit my weed and it's straight up sh**tin' In your draws, Guess jeans and all And then you had no one, give E a call But he called back and wasn't f**in' wit you Cause hoes down South know good voo-doo f** around and have your a** sprung like Eddie Period blood mixed in your spaghetti And if I could I would roll a vega ]From Hillside, Cali to the Get Low Playaz You n***as light it for me and I'm pa** it to Quinn And let it out when you get to chin Chorus I'm finally hittin' Cali after 3 weeks gone Than ran out of boomb and I'm glad to be home Now who on my phone, Dante or Bruce I be there in a minute to do what we do See, it's a triviant game, cause we gone smoke And blow big dubs from young body and all And I can't give a f** if you're drunk or smoked Imma give you a 5 we gone light the ... In to the ... told the sh** on the street Some of tha homies that be restin' in peace The sh** won't cease till I see D I know my homie got a fat blunt for me Pine apple juice, malibu rum 1501 get your dickhead done When it gets like that, you know I gots to f** Or maybe kcikback and get my dickhead s**ed I won't ask for much, just a** and guts And brand new speakers for my oldschool cut A big fat sack of that dohja So I can get smokin' like I'm 'posed to Chorus