Dusted 'n' Disgusted

Dusted 'n' Disgusted Lyrics

Verse One: E-40

I'm really not all that sure
Bout when things is finna mature
So let me find me a nigga with a grip
And hit his ass quick with one of them whoops
(What's the definition of a lick?)
Taking a niggaz sh*t
(Hey put that on sumthin)
I put that on The Click, The Click
Back to f**kin work one of the homies jus got dusted
Time to do some dirt, uhh, I never trusted
Them bustas shot him in the shirt, dead on arrival
Now the town is funky, it's called survival
What y'all wanna do? They got us scuffled
(bullet high, get in your eye) if this was a fifth well I be drunk
I'm heated, them niggaz cheated, played me false
We had em eatin, sh*t 'posed to been squashed
I noticed one killa on the double dribble and set him up y'all
She likes the Monie in the Middle, play tetherball
Thick ass b**ch, high yellow city-slicker
Scarecrow creepin Southern b**ches, aka Posie Pussyfictious

Verse Two: Spice-1

Nigga been holdin guts, but sh*t on hisself and a funky bill
Pullin out bills, frontin on material sh*t
That's when I get to killin sh*t (killin sh*t)
And settin 'im up and havin 'im catchin a couple of slugs
Sl-uh sl-uh slugs, trynta f**k with savage thug
Pistol pop in they ass, see niggaz be gettin this twisted
It's that b**ch that killed ya
Took all your money peeled ya
Seven niggaz bust in the room with AK's
While a nigga be puttin on his jimmy
All of a sudden they shoot up your Vuitton
Before you can hit the broccoli
See money-a-made that nigga, that nigga didn't make that money
Left them niggaz jacked up, and the b**ch she macked him
He's a busta, punk ass nigga, y'all know the streets
That's why that nigga naked layin dead in between some bloody sheets
It's just a part of the game he didn't feel
b**ches will kill, f**k a nigga, out his last d-uh dollar bill
You don't know that hoe main that b**ch can't be trusted
Dusted and di-motherf**kin-sgusted

Chorus: E-40

Some cold hearted sh*t
Back to f**kin work, one of the homies jus got dusted
Whacha'll wanna do, whacha'll wanna do
Cold hearted b**ches
Back to f**kin work, one of the homies jus got dusted
Whacha'll wanna do, I never trusted them bustas
Some cold hearted sh*t
Back to f**kin work, one of the homies jus got dusted
I never trusted them bustas
And it's them cold hearted b**ched
Back to f**kin work, one of the homies jus got dusted
Dusted and disgusted

Verse Three: E-40, 2Pac

Let's let of some two or threes on the other side of t-uh-town
Draw the attention on the other s-uh-side of town (other side of town)
And wait for the po-po shift to change, ghetto shootin range
Revenge on the r-uh-rebound, war games
Droughts, out, shhh lost clientele but I will prevail
By sellin the broccoli dank instead of the crack cocaine
Try not to steal narcotics
When these punk MC's and b**ches be the reason why
The smoke be comin up out the chow, with my nigga Pac

Dear God, can you forgive me? My future's lookin sick
I'm in my rag hittin switches I'm suspicious of these b**ches
I keep on, calllin, but ain't nobody pickin up
I think she's stallin, this evil b**ch is tryin ta set me up
Came all alone if it's on then it's on
Where's my motherf**kin chrome, only jealous niggaz roam
It's a war zone (war zone) but I'm a man so with gun in hand
I'm on my way to see this hoe you know the f**kin plan
Can't understand, but the things ain't the same
You could die over these b**ches if you slippin in the game
Niggaz gang bang, but b**ches gang bang too
Give up that good thang, and put that pistol to your brain
If you was smart figure, don't have no love in your heart nigga
Any complications pull the trigger, dusted and disgusted
b**ches can't be trusted, you know the rules
They underhanded, she planned it, you f**kin fool

(These hoes out here tryin to hold a nigga's heart
So a nigga get his money f**ked with
Almost in-laws)
Hey be proud of it when you turn these b**ches upside down
What's gonna happen
(Uhh, three and a half dollars or probably fo' if
a b**ch ridin)
(Yeah main, them hoes talented
They be f**kin with mo' MC's at Jack the Rapper)
(Aight f**k it, what you say Mall?
Ay, f**k them sheisty ass bootches, nigga)

Verse Four: Mac Mall, Spice-1, E-40

The California lifestyle that I live
Where the b**ches is crooked and niggaz jus don't give
A flyin f**k, so I stay stuck, smokin on the tay-low
Bay Area playa, tryin ta have sh*t major
And a b**ch won't save ya
So I ain't playin Captain Save a Hoe
I mob up in ya like a pro and then I'm gone
I'm like Sylvester Stallone, everyday is like a Cliffhanger
Action packed, I let the mini-mac smack that ass

Them hoes jacked that ass
Nigga woulda got smokin on that hash
Can't have my cash, better go and take your nigga stash
'cause he's a busta, niggaz with clusters
Slippin in sh*t, betta jack that nigga 'fore I jack his ass b**ch
Never was no love for the mark-ass, the lo pink (the lo pink)
You love them Bootsy b**ches, can't let them pussy b**ches

Gank that ass, betta hide your cash and check her fast
Pump your brakes nigga, slow your roll don't go too fast
Cause bulletproof ain't doin no good no mo' no mo' no mo' no mo'
Now, niggaz comin up dead with they brains blew out on the f**kin floor
Damn, hollow points to flesh tears through the teflon vest
Now r-uh-rest
Pull a plug on a flatline over those, one nigga less
One nigga less, from coast to coast, to the East to the West
Crushin the flesh, dem b**ches played a game of death
Look over your shoulder watch your back don't even trust it
I'm tryin to told ya end up dusted

Chorus