More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
This * jammin', come through slammin' Look up in my hand and you'll probably see a cannon
Last man standin', if niggas get to blamin' California beer and you lookin' like salmon
Cooler than a Fannin' with us, there's no fairness
Tuli on the way, so with us, there's no shellin'
Pump Jackie Chan and Trunk Van Dammit
Hatin' on the family, you slumped in the van, man
My hoes pop on handstands, weed is like the Sandman
Put your ass to sleep, rollin' sweets by the grandfam
That nigga so high, he probably never, ever land
And if he did, he'd probably end up somewhere in Japan
With lean in my socky, I'm broccoli and teriyaki
She wanna sucky sucky, got her hands in my jockeys
Like that nigga Ed, I'ma go hardy
Know what I needs when I turns out to party
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
Cue the soil, just got my whip fixed
Trunk soundin' like Chewbacca tryin' to get up out that bitch
Stash box for a fit
With the next nigga chick, best believe
I'm talkin' on my sidekick, she rollin' up the weed
I don't live in this world no more, I live in the sky
You wanna know why?
Cause I be high as flyin' saucer fuel
And I don't hang around niggas that ain't cool
I'm talkin' about to the point where your own shadow
Don't wanna hang around, yeah
Nice guys finish last and stay broke
Bad guys finish first and push dope
I'm a money motivator, not a player hater
Bought my Chevy from a fiend, not the auto trader
Runnin' around and bumped into my fella once poor
But now he got it made millionaire now
But repeated to seventh grade
You can tell by the way that this boss walk
I'm a pay boy, I like to hear myself talk
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
Haters on my line, show a nigga no love
Bang on my hip, pokin' out my pro club
My life's like belly, it's like I co-rid it
I'm number 24 when it come to sick with it
On my screen, them eagle pipes hella loud
Got your bitch ass sittin' on crocodile
Got my third eye, lookin' for the cop car
More bass, more bass, I'm a rock star
Let the wolves out, men they move me
Knock me, knock me, knock me, knock me

Well it's lyin' through your front screen
I'm still in it, any nigga could get it
Yeah, anybody a subject to get the fuckin' business
Back to the Donna, throw em' on the kuh
More volume, that'll make the trunk jump
I rock goatee but not southerent
I got pink slip, no stuttering
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more trouble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more treble, more volume to the mic
More bass, more treble, more volume to the mic
B-B-B-B-B-B-Bass