close

 
e40

Dump, Bust, Blast
by E-40



Uh (Uh) Come on I I Boskeezy? I my my turn it up (burps)
Hey Boskeezy? Hey that shit right there I (talk to me willpalations) that shit.
That's ibeen? That shit smibeen that shit ibeen? That shit smibeen ooh (ooh)
4:15 showcasing to the max
Got my truckamajig free racing causing anxiety attacks
Pitch black normal tint boom bap!
Fucked around and overheated my Zues amp
500 oh the hoes fuck a ho
These are the thing that, uh, you need to know
Bust him open spin open the duct tape and the foil
Eat the rest and get a pot and let 'em boil
Bullet proof vest never confess keep a bucket full of acid
1-800-888 zippers-on-tastic
Clientele, raise 'em high raise 'em low
Out on bail everybody hit the floor

Dump, bust, blast, dump, bust,
Dump, bust, blast, dump, bust (ooh!)
Dump, bust, blast, dump, bust,
Dump, bust, (beotch!) blast

Slurp slip, deep throat shit I'm outta sight
I like to get my dick sucked in broad daylight
Acting bad on the soil acting tough
Break your ass down like 12-gauge Doyle bluff
You know if, ooh, that's what they holler
Snatch his boosty ass up by the collar
Law enforcement agents got me and my dudes up under investigation we hot like jalapenos
Man, how come niggas can't put their money together like Philipinos?
I suppose, can you bring him back?
He was one of them enemies that tried to participate in Swiss Cheezin'
My clean ass Cadillac
My Cadillac, My Pontiac I mean
My under bucket hoopty parked on Magazine

Dump, bust, blast, dump, bust,
Dump, bust, blast, dump, bust (ooh!)
Dump, bust, blast, dump, bust,
Dump, bust, (beotch!) blast

Dump, bust, blast, dump, bust,
Dump, bust, blast, dump, bust (ooh!)
Dump, bust, blast, dump, bust,
Dump, bust, (beotch!) blast

Check it out (check it out)
Third verse, let's begin lets be gone
I done served more water than, uh, Avion
Posted up like a thumbtack on the boulevard serving dead
Yola, ice cream, Ben and Jerry (Jer)
I've been doing somethings, cigars and pinky rings
I'm a big screw up in this shit like E-40 and the Click
Paper all up under my box spring mattress choppers on top of the fridge
Automatics in the kitchen cabinets man I kill a motherfucker over mathematics
Haters gonna hate, but they don't count nigga hustle
The dope game runs on two thing (what's that?) money and muscle
Do some gotti, fourth of July your party
Laid his "supposed to be so called hardest nigga in your town" ass down in front of everybody

Dump, bust, blast, dump, bust,
Dump, bust, blast, dump, bust (ooh!)
Dump, bust, blast, dump, bust,
Dump, bust, (beotch!) blast
---
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
written by KANTE, BOSCO A. / STEVENS, EARL T.
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group