| Song | The Slap |
| Artist | E-40 |
| Album | The Ballatician - Grit & Grind |
| 作词 : Davis, Stevens, Stevens ... | |
| Ooooh, I'm every scene but gossip, my weeblization be thug | |
| My music be all in the club and my fo' 15's be sub | |
| And my drums and my brake pads on my car be rubber | |
| My oldest, and my youngest son always nuggin | |
| Bumpin, me and my catholic savage, badness | |
| Dumpin, on phony-ass fake-ass plastic, faggots | |
| Grindin, dippin and divin on fine, pressure | |
| Rhymin, in the (Lab) like (Dexter) | |
| Packin Winchester, and a trey Sylvester | |
| Catch a, bitch-a, out there oughta wet'cha | |
| Kinda sorta liquored, liquor kinda sore, measure, grams | |
| Digital scale, green eggs & hams | |
| Yams, candy yams, spam, DAMN! | |
| Loaded, my cheese, peanut butter & jam | |
| Sam'mich, mannish, me and my hispanics | |
| Vanish, talkin in codes like we from different planets | |
| [Chorus] | |
| Ay, what y'all players grindin to? What y'all bumpin mayn? | |
| (The slap!) What they lackin in the trackin? | |
| What all my fly takers be listenin to? | |
| (The slap!) What about my {?} players and West coast cats? | |
| What they listenin to? | |
| (The slap!) And I know my down South, midwest and East coast folks | |
| is ****in with (the slap!) | |
| [E-40] | |
| I've got white girl for sale! | |
| And I don't mean caucausian, I'm talkin about yale | |
| 2-way goin off, like a high school {?} | |
| A hundred bucks it cost me for my faulty chip sale | |
| Around the corner from Starbucks coffee talkin to my {?} | |
| My frontin lil' broad up out of Tacoma askin for some mail | |
| Like I'm some type of trick deally musty mouth BOOTCH | |
| Get smacked silly, get smacked silly | |
| Musty mouth BOOTCH, get smacked silly | |
| Puffin on a Phizznilly blunt, I'm really real | |
| Herbal kill deal chill pill scrill deal (deal) | |
| Feel 'til Phil heal skill (skill) | |
| Grindin, grittin & grindin, lurkin, seekin and searchin | |
| Skirtin, tellin that durban work it (work it) | |
| Caitlin Candy's drinkin and gurpin, E&J brand burpin, {?} | |
| Chickens and birdies pickin a chef to serve it | |
| Servin, to die for, top, bleedin the block for ravi | |
| Milkin the block for fetti like a pregnant bitch's titties | |
| [Chorus] | |
| [E-40] | |
| Ooooh, ooooh | |
| Talk my way out of anything, got my hands off in everything | |
| If my money ever got funny, I'd pawn my Walter Potter engagement ring | |
| If I was to pass away tomorrow, with a self-inflicted wound to the melon | |
| Just remember y'all, I had the mouthpiece of car salesman | |
| Whomp beat of a gorilla, peel a cap back, to the tender fat | |
| Put out a contract, bring you back your hats | |
| Hypothetically speaking, not any time soon | |
| Fly fittest finest player leakin, Daniel Boone boom BOOM boom | |
| Creepin, fly right through your living room while you're sleepin | |
| Peakin, tweakin, geekin, screamin | |
| Chicken is sneakin but we was supposed to done had a meetin | |
| Renegin fakin in whom I trust, standin outside of the club schemin | |
| Scammin plottin and plannin yammin, yes sir and yes ma'am'n | |
| Double agent, playin a 50's loose cannon, new shoe | |
| You ain't even cool fool dude you a trick (trick) | |
| Take it from the Water Man, straight big stick | |
| [Chorus] | |
| [E-40] | |
| The beat keeps knockin down my rear view mirror | |
| [7X] | |
| Slap!! |
| zuò cí : Davis, Stevens, Stevens ... | |
| Ooooh, I' m every scene but gossip, my weeblization be thug | |
| My music be all in the club and my fo' 15' s be sub | |
| And my drums and my brake pads on my car be rubber | |
| My oldest, and my youngest son always nuggin | |
| Bumpin, me and my catholic savage, badness | |
| Dumpin, on phonyass fakeass plastic, faggots | |
| Grindin, dippin and divin on fine, pressure | |
| Rhymin, in the Lab like Dexter | |
| Packin Winchester, and a trey Sylvester | |
| Catch a, bitcha, out there oughta wet' cha | |
| Kinda sorta liquored, liquor kinda sore, measure, grams | |
| Digital scale, green eggs hams | |
| Yams, candy yams, spam, DAMN! | |
| Loaded, my cheese, peanut butter jam | |
| Sam' mich, mannish, me and my hispanics | |
| Vanish, talkin in codes like we from different planets | |
| Chorus | |
| Ay, what y' all players grindin to? What y' all bumpin mayn? | |
| The slap! What they lackin in the trackin? | |
| What all my fly takers be listenin to? | |
| The slap! What about my ? players and West coast cats? | |
| What they listenin to? | |
| The slap! And I know my down South, midwest and East coast folks | |
| is in with the slap! | |
| E40 | |
| I' ve got white girl for sale! | |
| And I don' t mean caucausian, I' m talkin about yale | |
| 2way goin off, like a high school ? | |
| A hundred bucks it cost me for my faulty chip sale | |
| Around the corner from Starbucks coffee talkin to my ? | |
| My frontin lil' broad up out of Tacoma askin for some mail | |
| Like I' m some type of trick deally musty mouth BOOTCH | |
| Get smacked silly, get smacked silly | |
| Musty mouth BOOTCH, get smacked silly | |
| Puffin on a Phizznilly blunt, I' m really real | |
| Herbal kill deal chill pill scrill deal deal | |
| Feel ' til Phil heal skill skill | |
| Grindin, grittin grindin, lurkin, seekin and searchin | |
| Skirtin, tellin that durban work it work it | |
| Caitlin Candy' s drinkin and gurpin, E J brand burpin, ? | |
| Chickens and birdies pickin a chef to serve it | |
| Servin, to die for, top, bleedin the block for ravi | |
| Milkin the block for fetti like a pregnant bitch' s titties | |
| Chorus | |
| E40 | |
| Ooooh, ooooh | |
| Talk my way out of anything, got my hands off in everything | |
| If my money ever got funny, I' d pawn my Walter Potter engagement ring | |
| If I was to pass away tomorrow, with a selfinflicted wound to the melon | |
| Just remember y' all, I had the mouthpiece of car salesman | |
| Whomp beat of a gorilla, peel a cap back, to the tender fat | |
| Put out a contract, bring you back your hats | |
| Hypothetically speaking, not any time soon | |
| Fly fittest finest player leakin, Daniel Boone boom BOOM boom | |
| Creepin, fly right through your living room while you' re sleepin | |
| Peakin, tweakin, geekin, screamin | |
| Chicken is sneakin but we was supposed to done had a meetin | |
| Renegin fakin in whom I trust, standin outside of the club schemin | |
| Scammin plottin and plannin yammin, yes sir and yes ma' am' n | |
| Double agent, playin a 50' s loose cannon, new shoe | |
| You ain' t even cool fool dude you a trick trick | |
| Take it from the Water Man, straight big stick | |
| Chorus | |
| E40 | |
| The beat keeps knockin down my rear view mirror | |
| [7X] | |
| Slap!! |