Tekster:
Eightball

It's on, it's on, it's on, yeah It's on, it's on, it's on, yeah It's on, it's on, it's on, yeah It's on, it's on, it's on, yeah I'm just a drop top flippin

You are now, witnessing The effects of the Buddha Redman kick through your door Liquidated then I come through your pores Think the track is bleedin'

Off brand niggaz, we ain't fuckin' with y'all Catch up with ya kind 'cuz you ain't touchin' a dog Imitation fake like Gucci suits that niggaz be wearin

He, he, he, yeah What kind of nigga always run his mouth like a hoe? Like his jaw got a battery, this nigga always know Who got robbed, got shot, who

in me all in me Swooping through the hood where mostly ballas be Steady hearing women callin me Is it cause of the candy apple red navigator bumping Eightball

Alcohol Pussy and Weed Alcohol Pussy and Weed Alcohol Pussy and Weed Alcohol Pussy and Weed Alcohol Pussy and Weed Alcohol Pussy and Weed Alcohol Pussy

They fight, they fight, they fight, they fight Get low, get low, get low, get low They shoot, they shoot, they shoot, they shoot Get low, get low, get

I wanna see you take it off. Take it off,Take it off Take it off,Take it off Go head show me dat candy babe, Show me dat candy, Take it off,Take it off

Hickory dickory dock, dock Hickory dickory dock, dock Your girl pulled out my cock, my cock Here a girl, there a girl, ev'rywhere I go a girl Blow dro