D-Boyz Got Love For Me

(Intro: Spice 1) 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 count I'mma blow your motherfuckin' brains out One, what you think about, what you thinkin'? Don't cry, two (I don't slip motherfucker) (*Gun blast*) Nineteen motherfuckin' nine-fo' comin' at cha Gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gangsta Spice motherfuckin' 1 (Spice 1) I eat they ass up like a Swanson with the Thompson Fo'-fever, leave a - motherfuckin' cryin 'fore he take his last breather So come along take a trip to the dope track Where the young niggas be takin' your car and be peelin' your cap back That's why it's A to the motherfuckin' K Keeps a fat gat for the funk in the East Bay Mainy off 'yac, I'm goin' brain dead inside Talkin' to my homies 'Scratchy' tellin' me he wanna ride On the nigga that peeled his cap so now I'm on the streets With the dead motherfucker in the passenger seat And it's fo' to the motherfuckin' five G-a-gat that ass leave 'em dead in the ?eyes? Red Rum on the late night, catch my case right at the crack hut Niggas better back up, while I fix my sack up Pistol whip, shit, kick that ass quick Quick to rip shit, cause I'm a Coca Cola Classic O.G. and D-Boyz got love for me, D-Boyz got love for me (*Interlude*) (E-40) Da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha Da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha (Spice 1) I'mma chuck a dead body on your motherfuckin' lawn Light ya up like Red Dawn, nigga I be ready to funk it's on So call up the Paramedics and tell 'em that you're done nigga I roll strapped with no love upon my fuckin' trigger I lets my hair platt, and took his mail stack Now he's a stiff black, cause I was ?at that? I'm dumpin' these niggas in ditches back to back Hangin' they ass from telephone posts To leavin' 'em naked and bleedin' without no money Gun me, ho niggas wanna do that, do that But I go out and get a new gat, new gat and let 'em have it Nigga, so D-Boyz got love for me (E-40) I got love for D-Boyz, cause D-Boyz got love for me I got love for D-Boyz, cause D-Boyz got love for me Nigga got outta line I had to chop him Reached into my drawers and pulled out my strap (pull out your strap) Motherfucker got outta place I had to chop him Reached into my fruit of the looms and pulled out my strap (pull out your strap) Nigga got outta place, youse got to pop him Reach up in your draws and pull out your strap (pull out your strap) Rookie get outta line you better ice him Reach into your d-dun-dun-duns and pull out your strap (pull out your strap) Just call me Chef Boyar-D-Boy, soda for bakin' Cupcakes and cookies, rappies I'm makin' huh Tall cash, can't let he cut my grass Don't make me have to come back and split your parents house in half With my Sig-Sauer P226-Diana Ross cousin Nina - Mr. Meaner, body bleeder Heartless, empty the cartridge roll Smartless, get out of dodge, so cold Hollow point hot ones dipped in garlic I lives at the bar like an Alcoholic Niggas think that I be bluffin' when I tell 'em I'm a good shot But I'm also into some other things like ice picks and piano strings Bitch, I'm tryin' to get nigga rich Open up shop, cotton candy and licorice, uh (Outro: Spice 1 & E-40) 40 water, 40 water Me come to gatcha up and leave with 40 water Shoot 'em up now 40 water, 40 water Me come to gatcha up and leave with 40 water (in this bich) Blaow! Spiggidy one whippin' up on dat ass for nine-four Da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha (muthafuckin rumble bitch) 40 water, 40 water Me come to gatcha up and leave with 40 water Shoot 'em up now 40 water, 40 water Me come to gatcha up and leave with 40 water Byd a bye bye Blaow! (Spiggity sp, sp, spiggity sp, sp, spit nigga hahahahaha) They call me Spiggity one, Spiggity one Me bust a cap up in your ass with big black gun, biddy-a-bye-bye (Spiggity sp, Spiggity Spice one in this bich E-40 in this bich) Yeah man, me roll down the block with my nigga 40 water, 40 water Me come to gatcha up and leave with 40 water Byd-a-bye-bye, Spiggidy one whippin' up on dat ass Yeah man, livin' in the city is a motherfuckin' task (This shit will rumble your muthafuckin trunk. What's a 7-0-7 on er... your trunk nigga?) 5-10 (4-1-5's?), yeah (That's four-fifteens if y'all bitches didn't know, yeah bich) Yeah bitch, stupid ass hoes (Da-tha-tha, sing it with me, da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha, ah yeah) (*Whistling*)