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Correct Dusted 'n' Disgusted Lyrics
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Artists: E
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E-40
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Correct Dusted 'n' Disgusted
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Lyrics:
Verse One: E-40 I'm really not all that sure Bout when things is finna mature So let me find me a nigga with a grip And hit his ass quick with one of them whoops (What's the definition of a lick?) Taking a niggaz shit (Hey put that on sumthin) I put that on The Click, The Click Back to fuckin work one of the homies jus got dusted Time to do some dirt, uhh, I never trusted Them bustas shot him in the shirt, dead on arrival Now the town is funky, it's called survival What y'all wanna do? They got us scuffled (bullet high, get in your eye) if this was a fifth well I be drunk I'm heated, them niggaz cheated, played me false We had em eatin, shit 'posed to been squashed I noticed one killa on the double dribble and set him up y'all She likes the Monie in the Middle, play tetherball Thick ass bitch, high yellow city-slicker Scarecrow creepin Southern bitches, aka Posie Pussyfictious Verse Two: Spice-1 Nigga been holdin guts, but shit on hisself and a funky bill Pullin out bills, frontin on material shit That's when I get to killin shit (killin shit) And settin 'im up and havin 'im catchin a couple of slugs Sl-uh sl-uh slugs, trynta fuck with savage thug Pistol pop in they ass, see niggaz be gettin this twisted It's that bitch that killed ya Took all your money peeled ya Seven niggaz bust in the room with AK's While a nigga be puttin on his jimmy All of a sudden they shoot up your Vuitton Before you can hit the broccoli See money-a-made that nigga, that nigga didn't make that money Left them niggaz jacked up, and the bitch she macked him He's a busta, punk ass nigga, y'all know the streets That's why that nigga naked layin dead in between some bloody sheets It's just a part of the game he didn't feel Bitches will kill, fuck a nigga, out his last d-uh dollar bill You don't know that hoe main that bitch can't be trusted Dusted and di-motherfuckin-sgusted Chorus: E-40 Some cold hearted shit Back to fuckin work, one of the homies jus got dusted Whacha'll wanna do, whacha'll wanna do Cold hearted bitches Back to fuckin work, one of the homies jus got dusted Whacha'll wanna do, I never trusted them bustas Some cold hearted shit Back to fuckin work, one of the homies jus got dusted I never trusted them bustas And it's them cold hearted bitched Back to fuckin work, one of the homies jus got dusted Dusted and disgusted Verse Three: E-40, 2Pac Let's let of some two or threes on the other side of t-uh-town Draw the attention on the other s-uh-side of town (other side of town) And wait for the po-po shift to change, ghetto shootin range Revenge on the r-uh-rebound, war games Droughts, out, shhh lost clientele but I will prevail By sellin the broccoli dank instead of the crack cocaine Try not to steal narcotics When these punk MC's and bitches be the reason why The smoke be comin up out the chow, with my nigga Pac Dear God, can you forgive me? My future's lookin sick I'm in my rag hittin switches I'm suspicious of these bitches I keep on, calllin, but ain't nobody pickin up I think she's stallin, this evil bitch is tryin ta set me up Came all alone if it's on then it's on Where's my motherfuckin chrome, only jealous niggaz roam It's a war zone (war zone) but I'm a man so with gun in hand I'm on my way to see this hoe you know the fuckin plan Can't understand, but the things ain't the same You could die over these bitches if you slippin in the game Niggaz gang bang, but bitches gang bang too Give up that good thang, and put that pistol to your brain If you was smart figure, don't have no love in your heart nigga Any complications pull the trigger, dusted and disgusted Bitches can't be trusted, you know the rules They underhanded, she planned it, you fuckin fool (These hoes out here tryin to hold a nigga's heart So a nigga get his money fucked with Almost in-laws) Hey be proud of it when you turn these bitches upside down What's gonna happen (Uhh, three and a half dollars or probably fo' if a bitch ridin) (Yeah main, them hoes talented They be fuckin with mo' MC's at Jack the Rapper) (Aight fuck it, what you say Mall? Ay, fuck them sheisty ass bootches, nigga) Verse Four: Mac Mall, Spice-1, E-40 The California lifestyle that I live Where the bitches is crooked and niggaz jus don't give A flyin fuck, so I stay stuck, smokin on the tay-low Bay Area playa, tryin ta have shit major And a bitch won't save ya So I ain't playin Captain Save a Hoe I mob up in ya like a pro and then I'm gone I'm like Sylvester Stallone, everyday is like a Cliffhanger Action packed, I let the mini-mac smack that ass Them hoes jacked that ass Nigga woulda got smokin on that hash Can't have my cash, better go and take your nigga stash 'cause he's a busta, niggaz with clusters Slippin in shit, betta jack that nigga 'fore I jack his ass bitch Never was no love for the mark-ass, the lo pink (the lo pink) You love them Bootsy bitches, can't let them pussy bitches Gank that ass, betta hide your cash and check her fast Pump your brakes nigga, slow your roll don't go too fast Cause bulletproof ain't doin no good no mo' no mo' no mo' no mo' Now, niggaz comin up dead with they brains blew out on the fuckin floor Damn, hollow points to flesh tears through the teflon vest Now r-uh-rest Pull a plug on a flatline over those, one nigga less One nigga less, from coast to coast, to the East to the West Crushin the flesh, dem bitches played a game of death Look over your shoulder watch your back don't even trust it I'm tryin to told ya end up dusted Chorus
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