8 Ball - 2000 Digital Remaster;Remix;

Kick that shit

(Cold kicking ass)
(Cold kicking ass)
(Cold kicking ass)
(Kick that shit)
(Pull up a chair)

I don't drink brass monkey, like the beat funky
Nickname Eazy-E your 8 ball junkie
Bass drum kicking, to show my shit
Rap a hole in my dick, boy, I don't quit

Crowd-rocking motherfucker from around the way
I got a six-shooter yo, mean I'm brave
Rolling through the hood to find the boys
Kick dust and cuss crank up some noise

Police on my drawers, I have to pause
Forty ounce in my lap and it's freezing my balls
Hook a right turn and let the boys go past
Then I say to myself, "They can kiss my ass"

Hip to get drunk, got the 8 in my lips
Put in the old tape "Marvin Gaye's greatest hits"
Turn the shit up had the bass cold whomping
Cruising through the East side, south of Compton

See a big ass and I say word
I took a look at the face, and the bitch was to the curb
Hoes on my tip for the title I'm holding
Eazy-E's fucked up and got the 8 ball rolling

I was... (cold kicking ass)
I was... (raised in L.A.)
I was... (cruising down the street in my six-four)
(Too much posse)

Riding on Slauson looking for Crenshaw
Turned down the sound to ditch the law
Stopped at a light and had a fit
'Cause a Mexican almost wrecked my shit

Flipped his ass off, put it to the floor
Bottle was empty so I went to the store
Nigga on tip 'cause I was drunk
See, a sissy-ass punk had to go in my trunk

Reached inside 'cause it's like that
Came back out with a silver gat
Fired at the punk and it was all because
I had to show the nigger what time it was

Pulled out the jammy and like a mirage
A sissy like that got out of Dodge
Sucker on me 'cause the title I'm holding
Eazy-E's fucked up and got the 8 Ball rolling

(Fuck it up, y'all)
(Fuck it up, y'all)
(Fuck it up, y'all)
(Fuck it up, y'all)
(Fuck it up, y'all)
(Fuck it up, y'all)
Yeah

Olde English 800, 'cause that's my brand
Take it in a bottle, 40, quart, or can
Drink it like a madman, yes I do
Fuck the police and a 5-0 too

Stepped in the party, I was drunk as hell
Three bitches already said, "Eric, your breath smells!"
Forty ounce in hand that's what I got
"Yo man, you see Eazy urlin' in the parking lot?"

Stepped on your foot cold, dissed your hoe
Asked her to dance and she said, "Hell no!"
Called her a bitch 'cause that's the rule (bitch? Who are ya callin' a bitch?)
Boys in the hood trying to keep me cool

Tell my homeboy you wanna kick my butt
I walked in your face and we get on up
I start dropping the dogs and watch you fall
Just dumb, full of cumn, got knocked out cold

"Make you look sick, you snotty-nosed prick!
Now your fly bitch is all over his dick!"
Punk got dropped 'cause the title I'm holding
Eazy-E's fucked up and got the 8 ball rolling

Pass the brew, motherfucker, while I tear shit up
And y'all, listen up close to roll call
Eazy-E's in the place I got money and juice
Rendez-vous's with me and we make the deuce

Dre makes the beats so goddamn funky
Do the Olde 8, fuck the brass monkey
Ice Cube writes the rhymes, that I say
Hail to the niggas from CIA

Crazy D is down and in effect
We make hardcore jams, so fuck respect
Make a toast, puppy punk, to the title I'm holding
Eazy-E's fucked up and got the 8 ball rolling



Credits
Writer(s): O'shea Jackson, Andre Romell Young, Larry Troutman, Roger Troutman
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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