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    Chorus:
    I got one mo switch I can hit
    I got one mo bullet in my clip
    I got one mo drink I can steal
    I got one mo sack I can twist
    Verse 1, Coolio:
    I wear a "S" on my chest
    I prefer my vest
    And if the chronic run out, loc, pass the stress
    Cause all I wanna do is just roll my things
    Turn up the alphine and let the woofers bang bang
    To the boogie say up jump the boogie
    He was tryin' to get a grip on my cookies
    I shook thee
    I coulda took him, but he wadn't even worth a bullet
    I had my finger on the trigger, but I couldn't pull it
    From defamation to desimation
    Every day is like summer vacation
    A nigga couldn't wait for somethin good to put in yo Kenwood
    Turn it up to twenty-one, and bop it in your hood
    I'm a eastside nigga (Nigga)
    Gotta have sprilla (Sprilla)
    Do or die, low down, real life killa (Killa)
    They comin' through the hold on tip toe
    You swear, so
    I gotta get your grip, hoe

    Chorus

    Verse 2, 40 Thevz (Lek Ratt, P.S.):
    Yes, yes, y'all (Yes y'all)
    40 Thevz in the house, with a fifth y'all (Fifth y'all)
    Better recognize a tennis shoe pimp, y'all (Pimp y'all)
    When I'm rollin' through your hood in my six, ohhhh, that be you
    When our four colors rock, front and ass out
    All the riders shake and smile when they see me hit the block
    Your sounds ain't beatin
    So your girls ain't freakin
    Watch your fly, got the whole post meetin
    Hit 'em in their eyes
    And go suicides
    Later, pump them on the ground just to show 'em what it's like
    To hit the mic for a licken
    Hell no, I ain't trippin
    Cause I kinda like pimpin
    Bein' freer than a pigeon
    Got your bitch down in positions
    All kinda ways
    40 Thevz pimpin these suckas till they graze
    So, come with these weak flows if you must
    But I got a hundred and twenty-one mo rounds I can bust

    Chorus

    Verse 3, Coolio:
    Put the pep in yo step and the glide in your stride
    Like Clyde
    Drexler, this is eastside
    Westa, recognize the routine
    Mo jackers and packers than the Super Bowl ring team
    So, why you tellin me to sell a key of yayo
    That's how you give a fellow need like Jayo
    We lay low
    All up in the cut
    If it's suicide then roll the bustas up
    And I'ma hit 'em up like uppercut
    Better shuffle yo feet like double dutch
    Now the party didn't start til I walked in
    And it probably wont end til I sip Hen
    But in the meantime
    And in between time
    Better tuck in your chin
    And learn to take your lumps and grin
    You know you can't wait cause I'ma stay on one
    One switch, one sack, one sip, but I ain't done

    Chorus, Repeat 4X

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