Spice 1 - Mo' Mail lyrics

(E-40) Ah f** it Ah y'all got your n***a E-40 in this motherf**er I buzz I put a step in (G-Nut) Kickin it in the Fac house motherf**er (E-40) Ay, G-Nut, Spice, Xtra-Large (G-Nut) Let em have it (Spice-1) Went out the house I think it was a Sunday n***a was runnin with drop top drop havin a fun-day Kickin it with my n***as up on the block talkin sh** drinkin "Crooked Eye" I got the fat head rush from the chocolate Thai I'm feelin good I wanna kick it and hang out But when the drive-by hit this is the main route What the f** is my problem n***a? I got a glock seventeen better gobble them So why should I trip, load the clip, put the joint to my lip Get the motherf**in forty take a real a** n***a hit I'm sittin on my gat thinkin sh** is cool Some n***az roll up in an old school I ain't trippin, ay 慓' you know this n***a's face I heard the motherf**in ba** of a sawed off shotgun, hand on the pump Musty dead bodies and a catty bump, trump Smellin up the neighborhood lyin in the bushes Somebody had mo' mail than the rest of the pushers (E-40) Yeah, I'm just a hustler Yeah, I'm just a hustler Yeah, I'm just a hustler Spice-1, you know some hoes gonna go boy Look here ay look here They got schemes and scandals out there right? When that funk is on this here Check fan, the motherf**er gotta be about As greasy as gravy in order to maintain So society is a motherf**er ain't it? Ay, whatta bout those n***as on your dick n***a? Ice spit some sh** about that sh** n***a (Spice-1) Get off my dick n***a get your own motherf**ers steady mobbin gaffle the motherf**ers cause my jobbing Shootin up motherf**ers was my hobby Stop the tech-eleven on two-eleven I did a robbery Shot the mothef**er is grenades that I'll be livin Lowin the motherf**ers like a new pair of Levi's and Used to think the cops were so motherf**in friendly Till they tied my cousin to a chair and broke his chin 慓' My homies motherf**in head like a melon Slavery is (?????) of convicted felon So dear Mr. Officer of the motherf**in law Rodney Kind don't need a trial what was seen was what was saw You could take the n***as up out the motherf**in ghetto But you can't take the ghetto up out the motherf**in n***as Can't you hear the voice of the n***as comin at cha? f** you Mr. President I think I wanna gat ya I need mo' mail than the rest of the pushers Mo' mail than the rest of the piles (E-40) I can't get enough, good, good Good sh** motherf**er good sh** I think I'm a little jet drunk motherf** Ay, look here ay I'm off this Liquorice Rainall boy You understand that don't ya Huh, you feel it Ay, ay look here n***a, ay What I want you to do boy, drop that ill sh** (Spice-1) I'll make this gat sing like motherf**in Mary J. Blige And reminisce on havin a n***a's last breath when he slowly die Stang his a** in the chest with the hollow Capped him in his thr-thr-throat so he can't swallow R-a-rat t-a-tat put a buck in y'all The motherf**in six-foot chucky dog Comin to play with the trigger of the AK Another real a** n***a from the East Bay ?W-E-L-L-T-E-P-R-O-O-F? For the n***as who kid yourself by losin your f**in d**h Bloaw! Bloaw! Cap, we do it just like that Quick to put a motherf**er brains in his lap Smokin up a blunt as I reminisce of bloody body bags a motherf**er going nutty Bloaw! Bloaw! Po' bust a knowledge route Brown, notify his family, f** it, send his fingers home Cause the sh** get major, put the ?Montgomery? number upon his pager b**h don't f** with me I know a gang of n***as that will shoot it up with me I need mo' mail than the rest of the pushers (E-40) It's the S-P-I-C-E with ya n***a E-40 (Erick Sermon) Roll in to the curb and die These motherf**ers don't understand this sh** boy This sh** is so damn real man Ay, nineteen ninety-tre-four-five Ay, I got one of them Mo' mail than the rest of the pushers Mo' mail than the rest of the pushers Mo' mail than the rest of the pushers Mo' mail than the rest of the pushers Mo' mail than the rest of the pushers Mo' mail than the rest of the pushers Mo' mail than the rest of the pushers