Rapper's Ball lyrics

Where them naked hoes at?

E-Feezey!
Too Scheezy!
We off the heezy fo'scheezy baby!
Off the heezy I thought you theezy!!
Niggaz ain't havin no cheesy like us main!
They ain't havin no raveez!
Shit.
Haha you know us.
Where K-Ceeezi at man? Tell him sing that shit.
Lace dem fools or something.
Beotch!

Chorus: K-Ci

Say that you got it all
Love the way you players ball
Everyday you're at the mall
Tell me is it true or false
Say that you got it all
Love the way you players ball
Claimin that your mail is tall
Tell me is it true or false

Verse One: E-40, Too $hort

I put my mack hand down ain't never been asound
I was havin be -are-e-a-d way before this rap game nigga been town
Thought you theezy, for sheezy, niggaz 'member
Earl, Brat, and Denell dem boys from Vallel
At every light it's automatic, BURN RUBBER
See my folkers in the traffic, WHASSUP ERB
Follow that cab it got dope in it, uhh
My potnah $hort got hoes in it

I'm always hearin rappers big ballin on they songs
I do that shit for real and you'll never say I'm wrong
S-500 straight sittin on twenties
TV in the dash pimpin hoes gettin money
I'm Too $hort baby been down since the eighties
For the last eight years rode around in a Mercedes
Lexus, trucks, drop-Vette, Caddy
Bitches don't call me by my name they call me daddy

Chorus

Verse Two: E-40, Too $hort

K-Ci $hort E-40 Fonzarelli
I'll probably never have long money like Ross Perilli
But shit we just want a hip
Don't want the whole plate
Don't put the two on the ten, don't ever perpetrate
Like a lot of these fools I see on TV
With the Armani Chanel Versus Versacci
Why motherfuckers can't be broke sometimes?
Sometimes it's cool to floss
But don't buy an eighty-five thousand dollar car
Before you buy a house

They always said I couldn't rap, I just say bitch
I guess the bitch, made me rich
And now you wanna call me hardcore
While I be steppin out the shower on a marble floor
I paid the IRS taxes send FedEx and faxes
This industry'll is like fuckin, fat bitches
All work and no play, I do it everyday
Anyway 'cause I gotta stay paid 40

Chorus

Verse Three: E-40, Too $hort

We throw parties on big-ass boats, niggaz wrap they paper
Ultrafied all-inclusive trips, Montego Jamaica
Front row seats at the Ultimate Fights, shamrock and severin
Long expensive fuh-flights, up dere in the heavens
Fat ass royalty checks, fat ass cribs
Smokin blunts and drinkin brew on the blacony, barbecuin ribs
The more scrilla, the merrier
I represent the Ya area

I walk from Foothill and Paperscourt to Sixty-Seven MacArthur
To Freddie be house to make tapes with my potnah
Hit Arroyo Park, we had tapes for sale
Got a paper bag full of that, can't you tell
It's funky, everybody nod they head like this
I said bitch, and everybody read my lips
I got rich, suckin up the game from the O
And even though a lot of rappers got the same kind of flow
I survived 'cause I got mo', game than them
It came straight from the prostitutes, players, and pimps
It was my destiny, I came the same every time
So don't question me, I transfer the game in the rhymes

I'm not a freestyler, don't rap for free main
It's Paystyle on mine, 'cause I love money main
Landrovers and Toyota, Lexuses
Six-hundred feet twelve with them big ass motor Mercedeses
We don't be savin hoes, bitches be savin us
Bitch disrespect me in my car, bitch best to catch the bus
I keep a briefcase full of game, while y'all be ear-hustlin
Ain't no paperback pimpin nigga, we ain't strugglin

Chorus

Verse Four: Too $hort

I'm Shorty the Pimp, I come funky
Again and again, they say when will it end?
Maybe never, cause I can still spit it
But I ain't rappin for cheese, I want meal tickets
Gotta start somewhere, and I'm past that
For the right scratch, I be the last mack
So stick yaself Pretty Tony
You tryin ta make a hit, but your shit sounds phony
Not like AT&T but like ET
You can't be me, so would you please see
If you can keep my name out your mouth
Cause you don't really know what the game's all about
It's bout feedin the family, not freakin in the Benz
Instead of rentin, pay for that roof on your head
And stop pimpin in your mind knowin you a trick
Put your hustle down playa go an hit you a lick
Bitch!

(That's writ, Too Scheezi, Ant Banks, Forty Fonzarelli, K-Ci)
Damn is that right?
(That's right)