Pass the 40

Lyrics

[Intro: Dres] Nigga, come off. Check this out. Check this out Listen, all this shit y'all talking ain't got no frills We'll pass the 40 around and we'll see who's got some skills, I mean If you got 'em, you got 'em, and if you don't (I got skins, I got skins) You're over So Mista Lawnge, listen, I give this brew to you I'm gonna pour some out for my man Pee-Wee (Pee-Wee!) And do what you gotta do Alright, black bust it [Verse 1: Mista Lawnge] I'm the Sugar Dick Daddy, fuck what you think Pass the 40 right by me, 'cause you know I don't drink I remain sober when I drop a hit But I put gum in my ass, 'cause I like to pop shit When it comes to pullin' guns, I might do it But put your guard up, black, and I'ma run right through it Don't sleep on the size, thinkin' I'm easy to beat 'Cause I'll be up in that ass like a bike seat And when it comes to boning, I'm Mr. Erect, ya see Hoes come by the crib for a free hysterectomy I've got a dick that I brag about I put it in fast, then I drag it out Girls, I'll be that special friend, see 'Cause your man suffers from pseudo-penis envy I do damage ("Oh, uhm!") The Sugar Dick is guaranteed to make you cum Now I'll pass the 40, 'cause you heard from me So, go get a forklift, Chi-Ali [Verse 2: Chi-Ali] Well, I'm too young for 40s, and too young for blunts The only thing I'm not too young for is the stunts The girlies, the ladies, I love them with a passion But back to the mic, 'cause I'm always down for action Many emcees fall to the dust Some will rust, 'cause I bust and I crush, you can't touch I'm the child of the wild, the flavor of the Nile I gave you plenty of chances, still ya fuck with this style Now that you know, Chi-Ali can't be tooken Pass the 40, 'cause my mother's not lookin' [Verse 3: Hot Dog] Yo, give me that, kid! Your pops will put you in the morgue Listen to Hot Diggity Dog Bibb bow wow wow wow wow Yippity yie yo, yipity yo yie, yeah Diggity Dog is rocking and, yes, I'm definitely here to stay Pass me the 40, Pass me the 40, pass it if you may Because my jimmy is hard and, yes, I have a ho to slay And when I'm funking the bitches, they go "Huhhhhhh!" When I'm funkin' the bitches, they go "Huhhhhhh" Y'all drink the 40, I drink a Guinness Stout And when I see ya ho, I'm out Yo, Baby Chris, pass me the keys to the car I'm runnin late for my m�nage � trois [Verse 4: Chris Lighty] Pass it, tap it, and then crack it Take a small swig, or down it like a pig You're too tipsy to operate this rig On the mic, you suckers I strike in flight Here's a D.W.I. for drivin' drunk with the mic From Chi, to Lawnge, and all those in this fight Loosen your grip, 'cause you're holding it too tight I'll take a body count, I know my body count is right Five drunk niggas from my left to my right And maybe a ho that I'm with tonight But it's all right, yo! It's all rright So Dave, my grip is getting weak Grab the 40, so I can hear you speak [Verse Five: Dave Gossett] I live large, caviar and limos Spend most of my time refusing bullshit demos Can you understand? Do you understand? Well let me explain, I'm the A&R man Dave Gossett, yes I rock it I rip the mic and I stuff pockets Don't believe me? Ask the Sheep, see They got they money, think it's funny Always scooping all the honeys Oops, I meant to say hoes Broke my own rhyme What, ya didn't know? Ut oh I see a stroblelite ho, "I gotta go, I gotta go" Yo, Dres, it's your turn Act like gonorrhea and burn, baby, burn [Verse 6: Dres] Step into the booth and give 'em proof That Black Sheep don't need jack to get loose And rip a roof, loosen a tooth You're in my fuckin' way, so move And let a nigga get smooth Honeys play me close 'cause my goods are on display So, I play 'em like vitamins and take a ho a day I pull 'em like a dentist MoId 'em like a teacher Knock 'em like a bowler Fleece 'em like a preacher Step, get 'em, man, go to school, join a band It makes no difference whether Dres is that type of brother that will hit that ass forever 'Cause I'm clever, never have I ever Lost my sight, or said "might," or went a boneless night Not talkin' 'bout chicken, but if she's finger-lickin' I will let it be known Don't bite the bone Microphones, I like 'em, 'cause they let me amplify So don't reach for the sky, you know ya can't fly But still you reach up higher, a Black Sheep-type desire Then you look up at me, 'cause I'm a frequent flyer So now ya got beef, chief grief will be your claim I sport a full metal jacket, give your beef some lo mein 'Cause I'm swingin like a swinger, singing like a singer I'm lookin' for your finger, or your ho, so, did you bring her? Ah, I'm just bullshittin', almost time for quittin' There's money to be made, and booty to be hittin Look and you will see Dres, that's who I be A divine incline of mine is studio time