E-40

E-40

  •  Name E-40
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  • E-40 Dump, Bust, Blast Lyrics

           

    Uh (Uh)

    Come on, ai, ai Boskeezy?

    Ai, my, my, turn it up (burps)

    Hey Boskeezy? Hey that shit right there, ay

    (talk to my wepolations), 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

    Clinetel, raise 'em high raise 'em low

    Out on bail everybody hit the floor



    Chorus:

    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 a 12-gauge and call yo' bluff

    Ignore a fool, that's what they holler

    Snatch his bootsy 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 magazines



    Chorus: 2x



    Check it out (check it out)

    Third verse, let's begin lets be gone

    I done served more water than, uh, Evian

    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 fixture up in this shit like E-40 and the Click

    Paper all up under my box spring matress 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



    Chorus: (with three overdubbed tracks of random talking)

  • See Also Other E-40 lyrics