Rappers' Ball Lyrics

Rappers' Ball lyrics is a famous song. Song sung by the Artist E-40 and Too Short and released on the Album Miscellaneous. CSLyrics features all the songs list of this album. We proudly present you the song Rappers' Ball lyric.

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 man

They ain’t havin’ no raveez shit
Ha ha, you know us, where K-Ceeezi at man?
Tell him sing that shit, Lace dem fools
Or something, beotch

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

I put my mack hand down, ain’t never been a sound
I was havin’ bread way before this rap game nigga been town
Thought you theezy for sheezy, niggaz remember
Earl, Brat and Denell dem boys from Vallel

At every light it’s automatic, burn rubber
See my folkers in the traffic, wassup Erb?
Follow that cab, it got dope in it, uhh
My potnah Short 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 Short 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

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

K-Ci Short, 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 Versace
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 ‘cuz I gotta stay paid 40

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

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 there in the heavens

Fat ass royalty checks, fat ass cribs
Smokin’ blunts and drinkin’ brew on the balcony
Barbecuin’ ribs, the more scrilla
The merrier, I represent the Ya area

I walk from Foothill and Paperscourt to Sixty-Seven MacArthur
To Freddie B 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 ‘cuz 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 ‘cuz I love money main
Land Rovers and Toyota, Lexus’s
Six-hundred feet twelve with them big ass motor Mercedes’s

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’

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

I’m Shorty the Pimp, I come funky
Again and again, they say when will it end?
Maybe never ‘cuz 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 yoself Pretty Tony
You tryin’ to 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
‘Cuz 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

Damn is that right?
(That’s right)

Miscellaneous Album Song List

  1. On My Way
  2. The Plea
  3. Look In Da Mirror Remix
  4. Open the Eyes of My Heart
  5. Get Sick
  6. Avtryck
  7. Round & Round
  8. Fishhouse
  9. Closer
  10. I'd Rather Have You
  11. YKimizin Yerine
  12. The Immortal Ones
  13. Part Time Lover
  14. He's My Friend Until The End
  15. Vice Rag
  16. Yellow Brick Road
  17. Electricity
  18. The Son Of Hickory Holler's Tramp
  19. Pa' Na
  20. Moon Over Moon
Previous Lyrics

Make Her Feel Good

Next Lyrics

Petit frère