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{*static*} Calling all hustlers, calling all players |
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Please report to your scraper |
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Turn the ignition on, open all four doors |
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and commence to slapping, thank you {*static*} |
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{Gas break} (LOUDER!) |
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40-Water.. Federation, E-40 |
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BOTCH! |
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[Chorus: E-40] |
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Gas break, dip, then scrape {*3X*} |
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Sideshows, donuts, figure eights then |
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Gas break, dip, then scrape {*3X*} |
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Sideshows, donuts, figure eights |
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[E-40] |
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Aight, look, look here man |
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Look... I live my life like any day can be my life |
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Fools be tryin to hit me, like a porno website |
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I pulls up in the Chevy with them Rally Racer stripes |
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Some of my fellas on Harley Davidson bikes |
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With they lights on, in the daytime, the opposite of night |
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with them growlin-ass pipes ridin |
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30 deep with a broad on the backseat, highsidin |
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Tycoonin and timin, strivin and grindin to get my money on |
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Rappin and rhymin, tryin to go diamond and talkin on my phone |
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With the music slappin, slappin this song, they say I'm wrong |
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Cause I be poppin it at these hoes, fo' tears when I'm off Patron |
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Sucker repellant cologne I put on, when I leave my home |
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My 45 pistol chrome bust a nigga shit, bust a dome |
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Yo' bread is midget and dwarf, like a Hobbit |
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My yaper is long and lanky like Predrag Stojakovic |
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Tall like the mileage on my 70 Cutlass-es |
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Gas break and dip and then scrapin it with my loved ones |
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[Chorus] |
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[Federation - One] |
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I'm out the sunroof, gone off that rotgut |
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Straight scrape, that's the sound when the shocks touch |
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White walls with some pipe, haulin D skippers |
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Candy paint straight coonin, look at me nigga |
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Get my scratch, all about my mail - uhh |
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Ant, Stress, and Doonie, them boys from the fields |
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Gas, break, dip, scrape |
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Smoke it, up, figure eight |
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How I scrape? Goldie's a eight |
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Pull up, dig in my nose, and give you handshake |
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40-Agua, lent me the Range (love some bam shit) |
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Cross my fingers {?} I won't crash it |
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But my drink's spiked, so I just might |
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Dent a bumper or two, and bust a headlight |
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Now, all my niggaz in they scrapers (DO'S OPEN) |
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Thug in the Benz (get that Vogue meat smokin!) |
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[Chorus] |
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[Federation - Two] |
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Okayyyy, okayyyy |
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'96 Cutlass, mayonnaise and mustard |
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Dusted and disgusted but my guts like custard |
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Green caramel, Too $hort, "Freaky Tales" |
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Bumpin in the zoney, pimpin tenderonis |
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Blueberry blunt wrapped with a Rick Rock slap |
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Like Busta Rhymes, make they gun booty cheek clap |
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Stop by the trap, shoot a few craps |
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Don't trust na'r a nigga, keep the strap on my lap |
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Cell phone might be tapped, so we speak in all slang |
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That's why the white folk think that we all strange |
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People in the back of me see the TV's |
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Ant scrapin tough like a pair of Dungarees |
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Coonin E-Feez, on Myrtle Beach |
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Carlos Rossi, where the turtle growin trees |
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My na'r na'an nutta make all the hoes stutter |
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Gas break dip bend the pussy then cut her |
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[Chorus] |
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[E-40 - repeat 4X] |
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Punch the gas then break (then break) |
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Then dip (then dip) then scrape (scrape scrape) |
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[Federation - repeat 8X] |
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Gas, break, gas, break |
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[Outro - police car radio] |
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{*static*} This was an official, Sic'Wid It, Federation slap |
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You may now, close your scraper doors, and go home |
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Thank you |
