"Ask About Me" lyrics - E-40

E-40

"Ask About Me"

(T. Jackson / T. Whitemon)

[Hook [2x:] E-40]
I'm in the old school with the cocaine guts
(Got the beat turned up)
Gold Dayton wires, I'm the nigga from the flyer
Getting money 'til I expire
You better ask these muthafuckas 'bout me
(MUTHAFUCKA!)

[Verse 1: E-40]
I'm in the old school with the cocaine guts
Got the beat turned up
Higher than giraffe pussy at the light, stuck
Slappin' Mickey Mouse on my way to your bitch house
Be talkin' hella shit but not with my dick in her mouth
I see my relative in the traffic (Your family?)
Cuz, you got some work? (What he say?)
Naw, blood
That's just some Bay shit, we be saying all kind of thangs
We set trip, but we don't gangbang
I'm still drunk from last night, but I ain't whopped
This one of them good hangovers
Hope they don't throw the book (Where at?)
At me, lock me up and throw away the key
One more DUI, I'm history
Getting money is my specialty
A stack-and-a-half for a half a P
I'll give it to you at wholesale, long as you spend your cash with me
Better hope you ain't the po-pell, the Poncherello, the fuzz
Keep your mouth shut, no detail, don't throw me under the bus
(BIATCH!)

[Verse 2: Too $hort]
I'm riding clean as fuck, with a Phoenix slut
Past 25 years, you've seen what's up
A hundred cars, hundred broads every year
I can barely hear, my music's loud and clear
'Bout to run this little bitch and get up outta here
And if you mad, nigga, I don't care
I'm living my life like a rap star
Everything I do, muthafuckas say "That's hard"
You can go Behind the Music like VH1
All the records I sold and all the shit I done
Platinum after platinum-you say what?
All I do is hustle, it ain't ever been luck
It's that all-day every day grind
If you owe me, you better pay me on time
And if you fuck with me, you know I stay on point
I count the C-notes, the ones, and I'm saving coins

[Verse 3: B-Legit]
Block nigga on the ave with a cannonball
Her hand in my drawers, say what up to Shannon, y'all
And we can get it all from Isotol to Propofol
Shit'll make your heart stop, call it King of Pop
I'm in the drop with the top down, gold wire
Cherry pie in my swish', all I blow is fire
Loud packs, you could come and get what you desire
White walls with the gold stripe, gold tire
I'm higher than a brick building, yeah, your boy chillin'
And I don't fuck with broke niggas when I'm dope dealin'
See, I know the feeling, get your paper up
Coke white looking right with the same guts
I got the D-boy ways, I call it '89
On the grind, getting mine since '89
And baby fine but she really ain't a nigga kind
I'm from the era and that 40-cal might scare her