[Intro: Samples & Suga-T]
There is something going on down here
In Vallejo
FedEx
In Vallejo, California
In Vallejo
In Vallejo, California
[Chorus: Suga-T]
He said he's just a
Timer, name ringin'
Major factor, FedEx
High-powered lawyers, and a
Young nigga havin' his way
[Verse 1: E-40]
Lil' mannish ass nigga on restriction
Cryin' with his motherfuckin' nose in the corner
Broke up out of that old punk shit and said
"Momma I'mma do what the fuck I wanna!"
Hit the streets and make a wheelbarrow full of bread if I end up dead
Then press delete, I'm tired of eating potted meat
Within the nick of time a nigga hit the grind, so a dope boy scored a quarter key
Two hundred and fifty-two electronic milligrams
We'll sell rock coke candy, the organization
That I'm plugged with, they off into that old high-powered shit
These are the type of niggas that'll let a nigga know
When the drought about to hit, [?]
[?], post it on God
Because me got me scratch paper buried in the backyard
Me and my Click roll thick f'real don't be fakin' the funk like you a boss
Problems nigga? Let that go or get your head tooken off
Catch you out of bounds on the wrong fuckin soil
Wrap that ass up like aluminum foil
I'm FedEx, heavy duty nigga, pushin' weight (pushin' weight)
From sardines and Spam to Teriyaki steak; motherfucker ain't
But sixteen, fuckin' around with the skillet, makin' a killin'
Runnin' through three or four units a week on the over over puttin' the Whammy on 'em
(Whammy on 'em)
Cake up and baking soda, all that old shit
(What's your occupation?) Motherfucker I'm a timer
There is something going on down here
In Vallejo
FedEx
In Vallejo, California
In Vallejo
In Vallejo, California
[Chorus: Suga-T]
He said he's just a
Timer, name ringin'
Major factor, FedEx
High-powered lawyers, and a
Young nigga havin' his way
[Verse 1: E-40]
Lil' mannish ass nigga on restriction
Cryin' with his motherfuckin' nose in the corner
Broke up out of that old punk shit and said
"Momma I'mma do what the fuck I wanna!"
Hit the streets and make a wheelbarrow full of bread if I end up dead
Then press delete, I'm tired of eating potted meat
Within the nick of time a nigga hit the grind, so a dope boy scored a quarter key
Two hundred and fifty-two electronic milligrams
We'll sell rock coke candy, the organization
That I'm plugged with, they off into that old high-powered shit
These are the type of niggas that'll let a nigga know
When the drought about to hit, [?]
[?], post it on God
Because me got me scratch paper buried in the backyard
Me and my Click roll thick f'real don't be fakin' the funk like you a boss
Problems nigga? Let that go or get your head tooken off
Catch you out of bounds on the wrong fuckin soil
Wrap that ass up like aluminum foil
I'm FedEx, heavy duty nigga, pushin' weight (pushin' weight)
From sardines and Spam to Teriyaki steak; motherfucker ain't
But sixteen, fuckin' around with the skillet, makin' a killin'
Runnin' through three or four units a week on the over over puttin' the Whammy on 'em
(Whammy on 'em)
Cake up and baking soda, all that old shit
(What's your occupation?) Motherfucker I'm a timer
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