8 Ball Lyrics

Like the big funky
Nick named Eazy-E
Yo 8-Ball Junkie
Bass drum kickin
To show my sh*t
Rappin holdin my d*ck
Boy I dont quit
Loud wild mutha f*cka
From around the way
I gotta sick shooter
Yo mean hombre
Wanderin through the hood
To find the boys
To kick dust and cuss
Crank up the noise
Police on my drawers
I had to pause
40 ounce in my lap
And it's freezin my balls
Hooked a right turn
Let the boys go past
And I say to myself
'They can kiss my a**'
Stopped at a light
Put the 8 at my lips
Put in the old tape
Marvin Gayes Greatest hits
Turn the beat up
Have the base cold rompin
Crusin through the East Side
South of Compton
See a big a**
And I said 'word'
I took a look at the face
And the bitch was to the curb
Hoes on me
for the title I'm holdin
Eazy-E's F*cked up
An got the 8-Ball rollin'


(I was)
Whose Kickin' a**?
(I was)
Raised in LA
(I was)
Crusin down the street in my 6-4
Ridin Los Loses
Lookin for Crenshaw
Turned down the sound
To diss yo law
Stopped at a light
And had a fit
Cause a Mexican almost
Wreaked my shit
Flipped his a** off
Got into the car
My bottle was empty
So I went to the store
Nigga on tilt
Cause I was drunk
Seen a sissy a** 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 nigga
What time it was
Put up the Jam
It ends like a mirage
A sissy like that
Got out to dodge
Suckers on me
For the title I'm holdin
Eazy-E's F*cked up
And got the 8-Ball rollin


Old East 800
Yeah thats my brand
Take it in a bottle
40, Quart, or Can
Drink it like a mad man
Yes I do
F**K the police
And a 502
Stepped in the party
I was drunk as hell
Three b**ches already said
'Eric yo breath smells'
40 ounce in hand
Thats what I got
(Yo man you see Eazy hurlin in a parking lot)
Stepped on yo foot
Cold dissed yo hoe
Asked her to dance
And she said 'hell no'
Called her a b**ch
Cause thats the rule
Boyz in the hood
Tryin to keep me cool
Dammit homeboy
You wanna kick my but
I walk in you face
And we get them up
I start droppin the dogs
And watch you fold
Straight dumb fulla cum
Got knocked out cold
(Made you look sick
you snotty nosed prick
now yo fly b**ch
is all over his d**k)
Fool got dropped
For the title I'm holdin
Eazy-E's f*cked up
And got the 8-Ball rollin


Pass the brew M*tha F*ckas
While I trash it up
And yall listen up close to role call:
Eazy-E's in the place
I got money and juice
Rondevues with me
And we make the duce
Dre makes the beat
So g*d damn funky
Do the old 8
F*ck the Brass Monkey
Ice Cube writes the words
That I say
Hail to the niggaz
From CIA
Cazy beat is down
And in effect
We make hard core jams
So f*ck respect
They can toast public parking
To the title I'm holdin
Eazy-E's f*cked up
And got the 8-Ball rollin

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Songwriter(s): Andre Young, O'shea Jackson, Roger Troutman, Larry Troutman
Record Label(s): 2007 Priority Records LLC All rights reserved Unauthorized reproduction is a violation of applicable laws Manufactured by Priority Records LLC,
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