Turf Talk - More Ba**, More Treble lyrics

[Hook:] More ba** more treble more volume tune the light [x3] More ba** more treble more (ba-ba-ba-ba-ba**) More ba** more treble more volume tune the light More ba** more treble more volume tune the light [x2] [Verse 1: Cousin Fik] This sh** jamming, come through slamming Look up in my head and you'll prolly see a cannon Last man standing if n***as get the blastin' California bear and you looking like salmon Cooler than the Phantom with us there's no fam-ous Truly on the wasted with us they're no shaming Pump Jackie Chan and trunk Van Dam and Hating on the family you slumped in the fam And my hoes pop on handstands, weed it like the sandman Put'cha a** to sleep rollin sweets by the grand fam My n***a so high he prolly never ever land And if he did he prolly end up somewhere in Japan With lean in my socky I'm Rockley and teriyaki She wanna s**y s**y got her hands in my jocky (my draws) Like my n***a Ed, I'm a go Hardy You know what I needs when I turns out the party [Hook:] [Verse 2: E-40] Uhh, through the soil just got my whip fixed Trunk sounding like Chewbacca try'na get up out that b**h Stash rocks for a fit, with the ness-naked chick best believe I'm talking on my Sidekick she rollin' up her weave I don't live in this world no mo, I live in the sky You wanna know why, cause I be high as flying soarer fuel And I don't hang around n***as that ain't cool I'm talking about to the point where you don't shallow don't wanna hang around you Uhh, nice guys finish last and stay broke Bad guys finish first and push dope I'm a money motivator not a playa hata Brought my Chevy from a fiend not the auto trainer Around and bumped into a fella once po but now he got it made Millionaire now but repeated the seventh grade Uhh, you can tell by the way that this boss walking I'm a Bay boy; I like to hear myself talking [Hook:] [Verse 3: Turf Talk] Haters on my line, show a n***a no love Bang on my hip, poking out my soul clug I like side belly, it's like I cold with it I'm number 24 when it come to Sick Wid It On my screen and eagle pipes hella loud Got'cha b**h a** sitting on crocodile Got my third eye, looking for the cop core More ba**, more ba**, I'm a rockstar Let the wolfs out, mini move mean Knock, knock, bullets flying through your front screen I'm still in it, any n***a could get it Yet anybody is subjected to get the f**in' bidness Back to the doggings, throw em on the cobnut Mo volume that a make the trunk jump I rock gold teeth, but not Sutherlin I got pink slips, no stuttering [Hook:]