D-boyz Got Love For Me – E-40 – letras

What’s wrong, nigga? What’s wrong, huh?You scared, nigga? You scared?What, you can’t talk with a motherfuckin’ gun in your mouth, nigga?I’m gonna give you a three countI’ma blow your motherfuckin’ brains outOne, what you think about, what you thinkin’?I’m proud, two, kinda slick motherfuckerNineteen motherfuckin’ nine-fo’ comin’ at chaGa-ga-gangsta Spice motherfuckin’ 1I eat they ass up like a Swason with the ThompsonFo’-fever, leave a motherfuckin’ crime ‘fore he take his last breatherSo come along take a trip to the dirt trackWhere the young niggas be takin’ your car and be peelin’ your cap backThat’s why it’s A to the motherfuckin’ yayKeeps a fat gat for the funk in the East BayMainly off gat, I’m goin’ brain dead insideTalkin’ to my homies, ‘Scratchy’ tellin’ me he wanna rideOn the nigga that peeled his cap, so now I’m on the streetsWith the dead motherfucker in the passenger seatAnd it’s fo’ to the motherfuckin’ fiveGat that ass, leave ’em dead in the IvesRed Rum on the late night, catch my case right at the crack hutNiggas better back up, while I fix my sack upPistol whip, shit, kick that ass quickQuick to rip shit ’cause I’m a Coca Cola ClassicO.G. and D-Boyz got love for me, D-Boyz got love for meDa, tha, tha, da, tha, thaDa, tha, tha, da, tha, thaDa, tha, tha, da, tha, thaDa, tha, tha, da, tha, thaI’ma chuck a dead body on your motherfuckin’ lawnLike jump like Red gone, nigga, I’ll be ready, the funk is onSo call up the Paramedics and tell ’em that you’re dyin’ niggaI roll strapped with no love upon my fuckin’ triggerI lets my hair platt and took his mail stackNow he’s a stiff black ’cause I was at thatI’m dumpin’ these niggas in ditches back to backHangin’ they ass from telephone postsTo leavin’ ’em, makin’ ’em bleed without no moneyGun me, hoe niggas, wanna do that, do thatBut I go out and get a new gat, new gat and let ’em have itNigga, so D-Boyz got love for meI got love for D-Boyz ’cause D-Boyz got love for meI got love for D-Boyz ’cause D-Boyz got love for meNigga got outta line, I had to chop himReached into my draws and pulled out my strapMotherfucker got outta place, I had to chop himReached into my fudadalooms and pulled out my strapNigga got outta place, youse got to pop himReach up in your draws and pull out your strapRookie get outta line, you better ice himReach into your d-dun-dun-duns and pull out your strapJust call me Chef Boyardee-Boy, soda for bakin’Cupcakes and cookies, rappies, I’m makin’ huhTall cash, can’t let eat up my grassDon’t make me have to come back and split your parents house in halfWith my 6RP226-Diana Ross, cousin Nina, Mr. Meaner, body bleederHeartless, empty the cartridge rollSmartless, get out and die so coldHollow point hot ones, dipped in garlicI lives up the bar like an AlcoholicNiggas think that I be bluffin’ when I tell ’em I’m a good shotBut I’m also into some other thingsLike ice picks and piano stringsSo bitch, I’m tryin’ to get nickerageOpen up shop, cotton candy and liquorice, uh[Incomprehensible]Shoot ’em up now[Incomprehensible]Blaow, Spiggidy one, whippin’ up on dat ass for nine-fourDa, tha, tha, da, tha, tha, da, tha, tha[Incomprehensible]Shoot ’em up now[Incomprehensible], byd-a-bye, byeBlaow, they call me Spiggity one, Spiggity one(Spiggity sp, sp, spiggity sp, sp, spit nigga)Me bust a cap up in your ass with big black gun, byd-a-bye, byeChill man, me roll down the block with my nigga[Incomprehensible]Byd-a-bye, bye, Spiggidy one whippin’ up on dat assChill man, livin’ in the city is a motherfuckin’ taskWhat’s a 7 0 7 on er, your trunk nigga? 5 104 1 5’s?, yeah, that’s four fifteens, if y’all bitches didn’t knowYeah, bitch, stupid ass hoesDa, tha, tha, sing it with meDa, tha, tha, da, tha, tha, ah, yeah