(feat. E-40)



[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'ma blow your motherfuckin' brains out

One, what you think about, what you thinkin'?

I'm proud, two (kinda slick 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 Swason with the Thompson

fo'-fever, leave a - motherfuckin' crime 'fore he take his last breather

So come along take a trip to the dirt track

Where the young niggas be takin' your car and be peelin' your cap back

That's why it's A to the motherfuckin' yay

keeps a fat gat for the funk in the East Bay

mainly off gat, 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 ives

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'ma chuck a dead body on your motherfuckin' lawn

like jump like Red gone, nigga I'll be ready the funk is on

So call up the Paramedics and tell 'em that you're dyin' 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 makin' 'em bleed without no money

Gun me, hoe 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 draws and pulled out my strap (pull out your strap)

Motherfucker got outta place I had to chop him

Reached into my fudadalooms 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 Boyardee-Boy, soda for bakin'

Cupcakes and cookies, rappies I'm makin' huh

Tall cash, can't let eat up my grass

Don't make me have to come back and split your parents house in half

with my 6RP226-Diana Ross cousin Nina - Mr. Meaner, body bleeder

Heartless, empty the cartridge roll

Smartless, get out and die so cold

Hollow point hot ones dipped in garlic

I lives up 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

So bitch, I'm tryin' to get nickerage

Open up shop, cotton candy and liquorice, uh



[Outro: Spice 1 & E-40]

Shoot 'em up now

Blaow! Spiggidy one whippin' up on dat ass for nine-four

Da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha

Shoot 'em up now, 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, byd-a-bye-bye

Chill man, me roll down the block with my nigga

Byd-a-bye-bye, Spiggidy one whippin' up on dat ass

Chill man, livin' in the city is a motherfuckin' task

(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 bitch, stupid ass hoes

(Da-tha-tha, sing it with me, da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha, ah yeah)

[Whistling]