Dump Bust Blast Lyrics by E-40

Dump Bust Blast Lyrics

    Uh (uh)
    Come on, ai, ai boskeezy?
    Ai, my, my, turn it up (burps)
    Hey boskeezy? hey that shit right there, ay
    (talk to my wepolations), that shit.
    That's ibeen? that shit smibeen that shit ibeen?
    That shit smibeen, ooh (ooh)

    4:15 showcasing to the max
    Got my truckamajig free racing causing anxiety attacks
    Pitch black normal tint boom bap!
    Fucked around and overheated my zues amp
    500, oh the hoes, fuck a ho
    These are the thing that, uh, you need to know
    Bust him open spin open the duct tape and the foil
    Eat the rest and get a pot and let 'em boil
    Bullet proof vest never confess keep a bucket full of acid
    1-800-888 zippers-on-tastic
    Clinetel, raise 'em high raise 'em low
    Out on bail everybody hit the floor

    Chorus:
    Dump, bust, blast, dump, bust,
    Dump, bust, blast, dump, bust (ooh!)
    Dump, bust, blast, dump, bust,
    Dump, bust, (beotch!) blast

    Slurp slip, deep throat shit i'm outta sight
    I like to get my dick sucked in - broad daylight
    Acting bad on the soil acting tough
    Break your ass down like a 12-gauge and call yo' bluff
    Ignore a fool, that's what they holler
    Snatch his bootsy ass up by the collar
    Law enforcement agents got me and my dudes up under investigation
    We hot like jalapenos
    Man, how come niggas can't put their money together like philipinos?
    I suppose, can you bring him back?
    He was one of them enemies that tried to participate
    In swiss cheezin' my clean ass cadillac
    My cadillac, my pontiac i mean
    My under bucket hoopty parked on magazines

    Chorus: 2x

    Check it out (check it out)
    Third verse, let's begin lets be gone
    I done served more water than, uh, evian
    Posted up like a thumbtack on the boulevard serving dead
    Yola, ice cream, ben and jerry (jer)
    I've been doing somethings, cigars and pinky rings
    I'm a fixture up in this shit like e-40 and the click
    Paper all up under my box spring matress choppers on top of the fridge
    Automatics in the kitchen cabinets man i kill a motherfucker over mathematics
    Haters gonna hate, but they don't count nigga hustle
    The dope game runs on two thing (what's that?) money and muscle
    Do some gotti, fourth of july your party
    Laid his "supposed to be so called hardest nigga in your town"
    Ass down in front of everybody

    Chorus: (with three overdubbed tracks of random talking)

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