| 作词 : Adams, Stevens, Thornton ... | |
| The definition of quarterbackin' | |
| [Scratched] | |
| 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 fifth 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 fillin' wit' my projects find it yeah | |
| Not only was I in the game, I was gifted in it | |
| Served food to the fiends and we called 'em dinners | |
| Put the raw wit' the fake out, mixed it in it | |
| Can't explain the cat's hustle, guess it just was in | |
| It's Malicious | |
| [Chorus - E-40] | |
| If you got the turf crackin' and ya money's stackin', ya | |
| Quarterbackin', Quarterbackin' | |
| Leader of the squad and your the team captain | |
| Quaterbackin', Quarterbackin' | |
| Gotta little change and ya drivin' a range | |
| Quarterbackin', Quarterbackin' | |
| If ya sound system bangs, and ya pushin' them thangs | |
| Quarterbackin', Quarterbackin' | |
| [Verse 2 - E-40] | |
| Might not know what I'm talkin' about | |
| If you ain't never lived it, or seen it, or done it | |
| Seen fiends vomit, green stuff I had to clean it up wit' comet | |
| Mean stuff, so many deaths my streets is haunted | |
| Believe us, you shoulda seen us, like Wile E. Coyote, man super genius | |
| Against all odds 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 skill for a microphone | |
| And be rappin' about it up in the song, slidin' on some chrome | |
| It's long money I earn, I'm bald headed, but I used to have a lord Jesus perm | |
| When my name was earl before the rap game | |
| Runnin' from secret squirrel, I had my own thang | |
| Raised by wolves, hyenas, and barracudas, gorillas and bulls | |
| [Chorus] | |
| [Pusha T] | |
| I play the field like Vick, from endzone to endzone | |
| Serve that ish like snowcones in the hood | |
| Entrenched in the gutter, I was lost in the good | |
| Cuz I make the gat stutta like a old G should | |
| Mamas lookin, so much snookin' | |
| Nights in the kitchen thought I'd never finish cookin' | |
| Way before pay for this that I'm mouthin' | |
| 19 years young, upward of 80 thousand | |
| Trust me young'n Pusha was never browsin' for nothin' section 8 housin' | |
| I'm stompin' thru like King Kong claimin' his home, his jungle | |
| Mumblers beware the hood hates singers | |
| I connect, block the corner like Jenga, fall never, you seen 'em | |
| Posted in the hood leanin' fiends like the Tower of Pisa | |
| Damn he's good.. | |
| [Chorus x2] | |
| [E-40 - Talking] | |
| Now of course you know I ain't talkin' about sports | |
| I'm talkin' about runnin some shit | |
| I'm talkin' about workestratin' and illustratin' | |
| Glorifyin' ya paper route | |
| Whether it serve it to, uh.. | |
| Gettin' out there hustlin', grittin' and grindin' | |
| Doin' ya thug-thizzlemajiggadale | |
| Quarterbackin' man, hustlin' main | |
| Trust that main, yeah, in real life main | |
| Some call it pitchin', some call it grindin' | |
| We call it Quarterbackin' | |
| Yeah, and I ain't talkin' about sports, trust that main.. | |
| [scratched until fade:] | |
| The Quarterback |
| zuo ci : Adams, Stevens, Thornton ... | |
| The definition of quarterbackin' | |
| Scratched | |
| 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 fifth 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 minime | |
| Did it and lived it, grinded here | |
| Cops fillin' wit' my projects find it yeah | |
| Not only was I in the game, I was gifted in it | |
| Served food to the fiends and we called ' em dinners | |
| Put the raw wit' the fake out, mixed it in it | |
| Can' t explain the cat' s hustle, guess it just was in | |
| It' s Malicious | |
| Chorus E40 | |
| If you got the turf crackin' and ya money' s stackin', ya | |
| Quarterbackin', Quarterbackin' | |
| Leader of the squad and your the team captain | |
| Quaterbackin', Quarterbackin' | |
| Gotta little change and ya drivin' a range | |
| Quarterbackin', Quarterbackin' | |
| If ya sound system bangs, and ya pushin' them thangs | |
| Quarterbackin', Quarterbackin' | |
| Verse 2 E40 | |
| Might not know what I' m talkin' about | |
| If you ain' t never lived it, or seen it, or done it | |
| Seen fiends vomit, green stuff I had to clean it up wit' comet | |
| Mean stuff, so many deaths my streets is haunted | |
| Believe us, you shoulda seen us, like Wile E. Coyote, man super genius | |
| Against all odds 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 skill for a microphone | |
| And be rappin' about it up in the song, slidin' on some chrome | |
| It' s long money I earn, I' m bald headed, but I used to have a lord Jesus perm | |
| When my name was earl before the rap game | |
| Runnin' from secret squirrel, I had my own thang | |
| Raised by wolves, hyenas, and barracudas, gorillas and bulls | |
| Chorus | |
| Pusha T | |
| I play the field like Vick, from endzone to endzone | |
| Serve that ish like snowcones in the hood | |
| Entrenched in the gutter, I was lost in the good | |
| Cuz I make the gat stutta like a old G should | |
| Mamas lookin, so much snookin' | |
| Nights in the kitchen thought I' d never finish cookin' | |
| Way before pay for this that I' m mouthin' | |
| 19 years young, upward of 80 thousand | |
| Trust me young' n Pusha was never browsin' for nothin' section 8 housin' | |
| I' m stompin' thru like King Kong claimin' his home, his jungle | |
| Mumblers beware the hood hates singers | |
| I connect, block the corner like Jenga, fall never, you seen ' em | |
| Posted in the hood leanin' fiends like the Tower of Pisa | |
| Damn he' s good.. | |
| Chorus x2 | |
| E40 Talking | |
| Now of course you know I ain' t talkin' about sports | |
| I' m talkin' about runnin some shit | |
| I' m talkin' about workestratin' and illustratin' | |
| Glorifyin' ya paper route | |
| Whether it serve it to, uh.. | |
| Gettin' out there hustlin', grittin' and grindin' | |
| Doin' ya thugthizzlemajiggadale | |
| Quarterbackin' man, hustlin' main | |
| Trust that main, yeah, in real life main | |
| Some call it pitchin', some call it grindin' | |
| We call it Quarterbackin' | |
| Yeah, and I ain' t talkin' about sports, trust that main.. | |
| scratched until fade: | |
| The Quarterback |
| zuò cí : Adams, Stevens, Thornton ... | |
| The definition of quarterbackin' | |
| Scratched | |
| 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 fifth 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 minime | |
| Did it and lived it, grinded here | |
| Cops fillin' wit' my projects find it yeah | |
| Not only was I in the game, I was gifted in it | |
| Served food to the fiends and we called ' em dinners | |
| Put the raw wit' the fake out, mixed it in it | |
| Can' t explain the cat' s hustle, guess it just was in | |
| It' s Malicious | |
| Chorus E40 | |
| If you got the turf crackin' and ya money' s stackin', ya | |
| Quarterbackin', Quarterbackin' | |
| Leader of the squad and your the team captain | |
| Quaterbackin', Quarterbackin' | |
| Gotta little change and ya drivin' a range | |
| Quarterbackin', Quarterbackin' | |
| If ya sound system bangs, and ya pushin' them thangs | |
| Quarterbackin', Quarterbackin' | |
| Verse 2 E40 | |
| Might not know what I' m talkin' about | |
| If you ain' t never lived it, or seen it, or done it | |
| Seen fiends vomit, green stuff I had to clean it up wit' comet | |
| Mean stuff, so many deaths my streets is haunted | |
| Believe us, you shoulda seen us, like Wile E. Coyote, man super genius | |
| Against all odds 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 skill for a microphone | |
| And be rappin' about it up in the song, slidin' on some chrome | |
| It' s long money I earn, I' m bald headed, but I used to have a lord Jesus perm | |
| When my name was earl before the rap game | |
| Runnin' from secret squirrel, I had my own thang | |
| Raised by wolves, hyenas, and barracudas, gorillas and bulls | |
| Chorus | |
| Pusha T | |
| I play the field like Vick, from endzone to endzone | |
| Serve that ish like snowcones in the hood | |
| Entrenched in the gutter, I was lost in the good | |
| Cuz I make the gat stutta like a old G should | |
| Mamas lookin, so much snookin' | |
| Nights in the kitchen thought I' d never finish cookin' | |
| Way before pay for this that I' m mouthin' | |
| 19 years young, upward of 80 thousand | |
| Trust me young' n Pusha was never browsin' for nothin' section 8 housin' | |
| I' m stompin' thru like King Kong claimin' his home, his jungle | |
| Mumblers beware the hood hates singers | |
| I connect, block the corner like Jenga, fall never, you seen ' em | |
| Posted in the hood leanin' fiends like the Tower of Pisa | |
| Damn he' s good.. | |
| Chorus x2 | |
| E40 Talking | |
| Now of course you know I ain' t talkin' about sports | |
| I' m talkin' about runnin some shit | |
| I' m talkin' about workestratin' and illustratin' | |
| Glorifyin' ya paper route | |
| Whether it serve it to, uh.. | |
| Gettin' out there hustlin', grittin' and grindin' | |
| Doin' ya thugthizzlemajiggadale | |
| Quarterbackin' man, hustlin' main | |
| Trust that main, yeah, in real life main | |
| Some call it pitchin', some call it grindin' | |
| We call it Quarterbackin' | |
| Yeah, and I ain' t talkin' about sports, trust that main.. | |
| scratched until fade: | |
| The Quarterback |
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