Lyrics:
the beat corny
Producers can eat 40
Niggas tryna jock my style
Like E-40
I don't really get it
The best thing to do is
Be a man about it
Just step up
a ring around us
Ya'll got the police we got bling around us
West Philly I'm just reppin where I'm from
The E-40 got them bitches goin' dumb
The Fendi
Got a Stick shift E forty six M three
Bought a convertible living in cali
Wanted this car ever since I was 15
Whip so clean
Thank God, feel like
Rick with no Morty (Woo)
Dickheads old, be hatin’ like forty (Hatin’ like forty)
Make us young baws pop up with forties (Pop up with forties)
Mind ya
comin your way
Breaker breaker it's E-40 bitches call me the ahh
ballin ass, tight clean talkin Big Willer
Money hungry, penny pinchin stingy nigga
you're with it
Mayday mayday, unexplained object comin' your way
Breaker breaker it's E-40 bitches call me the ah
Ballin' ass, tight clean talkin' Big
E-class
I think we got a problem
Yeah
Big money in this bitch if you didn't knew
Big business minus the business suit
Even I look in
got the hood with the names of the crew on they t's
And I might make a funeral sweep, I ain't bullshitin
AR hit ya truck got ya hood flippin
Feet by
dippin', pop up my collar, the best
We limpin', the money flippin'
Hey!
Won't you yank on some of this Cali?
Sip on some of this platinum!?
If you want some
dippin', pop up my collar, the best
We limpin', the money flippin'
Hey!
Won't you yank on some of this Cali?
Sip on some of this platinum!?
If you want some
What what what what what what
Like what like what like what like what
Ayyyyyyyyyye
B a y a r e a
Pop my P's all in her face
O a k l a n d
Only
you at, then ya ass is got
[Chorus]
[Solomon Childs]
We bringin' back the Twin Towers, 20-0-3, crack game electronic
Conceived with slow jams by
bitches 6 feet deep
My mental status destroyed
'Cause I was touched by the hands of tha sick
But I swear with a passion
I'm a put 6 shots in this
with the shots like mano-e-mano
These hoes they bad and boujee, by the end of the night they choosin'
Lookin' out for the nigga with the biggest sack, I
you at, then ya ass is got
[Chorus]
[Solomon Childs]
We bringin' back the Twin Towers, 20-0-3, crack game electronic
Conceived with slow jams by
or bust my chronic
You couldn’t pay my bills or chop my product
You couldn’t blaze my phillies or pop my collar
And I don’t pop pills, I smoke gas and blow
You already know that I got it
These niggas they always want problems
I never can understand ya
Don't focus on me get a dollar
Get my cheddar
unstainable
I chew rocks
Slipe wit type digital soup deflect bullets
Black hooded surrounded by forty acres of wooded
Land, like my cousin dusty dirty
drink an E-40 I drink a Maxine Water
And take a D-Shot
And this is done by choice, not by force
I didn't wanna burn her
It was either right or left, I
'em touch
Give me that thing that I love
Put your hands up, make 'em touch
A-P-P-L-A-U-S-E
Put your hands up, make 'em touch, touch
A-P-P-L-A-U-S-E
Put
aiming for his head hit his collar like any miny mo let em go if he holler
Nigga say he gangsta he gangsta he gotta show me
My niggazll gank ya spank ya n
Yeah
Just incase y'all didn't remember
Pimp up! Ho's down
And them rollies that didn't know me
Know now
Know how, I lay the ism to the women
Pop
If you leaving go ahead leave
I still pop champagne
I still blow them trees
And I won't even ask you to stay
I'll accumulate a whole lotta cash in
I'm marinated by the beat, I need to flow
My hands clasped and my knees to the floor
I'm trying to stomach everything I need a bowl
And I'ma keep
Discuss these pop ya collar by e 40 Lyrics with the community:
Report Comment
We're doing our best to make sure our content is useful, accurate and safe.
If by any chance you spot an inappropriate comment while navigating through our website please use this form to let us know, and we'll take care of it shortly.
Attachment
You need to be logged in to favorite.
Log In