Mo’ Mail - Intellectual

[Intro: E-40 & G-Nut]

Ah, fuck it

Ah, y'all got your nigga E-40 in this motherfucker

I'm buzzin', finna step in

Kickin' it in the Fac house, motherfucker

Ay, G-Nut, Spice, Xtra Large

Let 'em have it

[Verse 1: Spice 1]

Went out the house, I think it was a Sunday

Nigga was runnin' with drop top drop havin' a fun-day

Kickin' it with my niggas up on the block

Talkin' shit drinkin' Crooked I

I got the fat head rush, from the Chocolate Thai

I'm feelin good, I wanna kick it and hang out

But when the drive-by hit this is the main route

What the fuck is my problem, nigga?

I got a Glock-17, better gobble them

So why should I trip, load the clip, put the joint to my lip

Get the motherfuckin forty, take a real ass nigga hit

I'm sittin' on my gat thinkin' shit is cool

Some niggas roll up in an old school

I ain't trippin', ay, G, you know this nigga's face

I heard the motherfuckin' bass

Of a sawed off shotgun, hand on the pump (Pump)

Musty dead bodies and a catty bump, trump (Pump, pump)

Smellin' up the neighborhood lyin' in the bushes (Uh, bye-bye)

Somebody had mo' mail than the rest of the pushers

[Interlude: E-40]

Yeah, I'm just a hustler

Spice 1, you know some hustlers on the go, boy

Look here, ay, look here

They got schemes and scandals out there, right?

When that funk is on this, nigga

Check fan, the motherfucker gotta be about

As grits and gravy in order to maintain

Society is a motherfucker, ain't it?

Ay, what about them niggas on yo' dick, nigga?

Ice, spit some shit about that shit, nigga

[Verse 2: Spice 1]

Get off my DICK, nigga, get your own motherfuckers

Steady mobbin', gaffle the motherfuckers 'cause my jobbin'

Shootin' up motherfuckers was my hobby

Stop the TEC-11 on 2-11, I did a robbery

Shot the mothefucker is grenades that I be lobbin' (Lobbin')

Lowin' the motherfuckers like a new pair of Levi's, and

Used to think the cops were so motherfuckin' friendly (Uh, uh)

Till they tied my cousin to a chair and broke his chin, G (Uh, mothafucka!)

My homie's motherfuckin' head like a melon (Uh, yeah)

Slavery is abolished except if ya a convicted felon (Fool, uh!)

So dear, Mr. Officer of the motherfuckin' law

Rodney King don't need a trial, what was seen was what was saw (What was saw)

You could take the niggas up out the motherfuckin' ghetto (That's what we know)

But you can't take the ghetto up out the motherfuckin' niggas (That's what we know, that's what we know)

Can't you hear the voice of the niggas comin' at cha? (Heat)

Fuck you, Mr. President, I think I wanna gat ya (I think I wanna gat ya, uh!)

I need, more mail than the rest of the pushers

Mo' than the rest of the piles

[Interlude: E-40]

I can't get enough, good, good

Good shit, motherfucker, good shit

I think I'm a little jet drunk motherfuck

Ay, look here, ay, I'm off this liquid Drano, boy (Uh)

You understand that don't ya

Huh, y'all feel it

Ay, ay, look here nigga, ay

What I want you to do, boy, drop that other shit

[Verse 3: Spice 1]

I'll make this gat sing like motherfuckin' Mary J. Blige

And reminisce on hearin' a nigga's last breath when he slowly die

Stang his ass in the chest with the hollow

Capped him in his thr-thr-throat so he can't swallow (Hollow, went halfway)

R-a-rat t-a-tat put a buck in y'all

The motherfuckin six-foot Chucky doll (Uh, the mothafuckin' six-foot Chucky doll!)

Comin' to play with the trigger of the AK

Another real ass nigga from the East Bay (It's real, boy)

B-U-L-L-E-T-P-R-O-O-F?

For the niggas who could kid yourself by losin' your fuckin' death

Blaow! Blaow! (Boom! Boom!)

Cap, we do it just like that (Uh, boy!)

Quick to put a motherfucker' brains in his lap

Smokin' up the blunt, as I reminisce

Of bloody body bags, a motherfucker goin' nutty (Uh)

Blaow! Blaow! (Blaow)

Po' bust another drop, Brougham (Hah)

Notify his family, fuck it (fuck it!), send his fingers home

'Cause the shit got major

I put the mortuary number up on his pager

Bitch, don't fuck with me

I know a gang o' niggas that will shoot it up with me (I am so, TIRED)

I need mo' mail than the rest of the pushers

[Outro: E-40 & G-Nut]

It's the S, the P, the I-C-E with ya nigga E-40 (The pervin' swervin')

Roll in to the curb and die

These motherfuckers don't understand this shit, boy

This shit is so damn real, man

Ay, nineteen ninety-tre-four-five

Ay, I got one of them

"Mo' mail than the rest of the pushers"