D-Boyz Got Love For Me

(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*)