i don’t drink br*ss monkey, like to be funky
nickname eazy-e your 8 ball junkie
b*ss drum kickin’, to show my sh*t
rap a hole in my d*ck, boy i don’t quit
crowd rocking motherf*cker from around the way
i got a six shooter yo mean hombre
rolling through the hood to find the boys kick dust and cuss crank up some noise
police on my drawers, i have to pause
40 ounce in my lap and it’s freezing my b*lls
hook a right turn and let the boys go past
then i say to myself, they can kiss my *ss
hip to get drunk got the 8 in my lips
put in the old tape marvin gaye’s greatest hits
turn the sh*t up had the b*ss cold whomping
cruising through the east side south of compton
see a big *ss and i say word
i took a look at the face, and the b*tch was to the curb
hoes on my tip for the t*tle i’m holding
eazy-e’s f*cked up and got the 8 ball rolling
riding on slauson down towards crenshaw
turned down south, to dish the law
stopped at a light and had a fit,
cos a mexican almost wrecked my sh*t.
flipped his *ss off, put it to the floor,
bottle was empty so i went to the store.
n*gg* on till cos i was drunk,
see ya sissy as punk had to go in my trunk.
reached inside cos it’s like that,
came back out with a silver gat.
fired at the punk and it was all because
i had to show the n*gg* what time it was.
put up the jam and, like a mirage,
a sissy like that got out of dodge.
sucker on me, cos the t*tle i’m holdin’
eazy-e’s f*cked up and got the 8 ball rollin’
old e’s 800 cos that’s my plan.
take it in a bottle, 40, quart, or can.
drink it like a madman, yes i do,
f*ck the police, and a 5-0 too.
stepped at a party i was drunk as h*ll,
three b*tches already said “eric yo breath smells”
40-ounce in hand, that’s what i got,
“yo man, you see eazy hurlin’ in the parkin’ lot?”
stepped on yo foot, cold dissed yo ho,
asked her to dance and she said “h*ll, no”
called her a b*tch, cos that’s the rule,
boys in the hood tryin to keep me cool.
tell me, homeboy, you wanna kick my b*tt?
i walked in your face and we get em up.
i start drivin the dog, and watch you fold,
just dumb, full of c*m, got num dot co.
“make you look sick, ya snotty-nose pr*ck,
now your fly b*tch is all over his d*ck.”
punk got dropped, cos the t*tle i’m holdin’
eazy-e’s f*cked up and got the 8-ball rollin’.
p*ss the broom, motherf*cker, while i tear sh*t up,
and y’all listen up close to roll-call.
eazy-e’s in the place, i got money and juice,
rendezvous with me and we make the deuce.
dre makes the beat so god-d*mn funky,
do the 0-8, f*ck the br*ss monkey.
ice cube writes the rhymes that i say,
hail to the n*gg*s from cia.
crazy d is down and in effect,
we make hardcore jams, so f*ck respect.
make a toast, pumpy pump to the t*tle i’m holdin’
eazy-e’s f*cked up and got the 8-ball rollin.