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 A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0  A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0 E-A-Ski - A Bag of Chips lyricsE-A-Ski LyricsTyped by: dalyricalmaster@tupac.com (Intro: Boss Hogg) (*eating a bag of chips*) Shit, niggas is hungry in this motherfucker I'm talkin' about for a bag of chips youknowhatI'msayin' dog? I don't think you do Nigga I ain't talkin' bout Bruffells nigga I ain't talkin' about Pringles, Doritos or Freedos nigga I'm talkin' about a bag of chips, oh you don't know what I'm talkin' about? (Yo Boss make it Hogg, run it down like dat there) (CPO) I'm in this mode to gettin' a code - infra-red I bust legal presidents - preferrably dead I've examined my financal situation and found shit I'm incredibly grose, fuck it, it's goin' down I, investigate the blue prints of the plot To eliminate inferral incidents of me gettin' got Double check the plan it appears unflossed So with that lettin' your Benz commence there's loads Jump in a ride, and it gets on to the designated Spot got the glock, cock 'em highly motivated Kick in the door, lettin' all the niggas try to flee You guess correct, this is a robbery Don't nothin' move the money as I engage in theft Stick the cash in the sack, exit stays left Um, police lookin' for the description who fits Fat black motherfucker with big ass bag of chips (Chorus: CPO) Now I'm just lettin' my point be made I simply gots ta, gots ta gets paid The one and only guy that'll search the grain Don't stop, now until I gets a bag of chips Nigga, I'm just lettin' my point be made Ya know I gots ta, gots ta, gots ta gets paid The one and only guy that'll search the grain Don't stop not until I gets a bag of chips (E-A-Ski) Ummmmhmmmm... I'm twistin' corners in the Beamer I'm dodgin' the police they want me fiendin' with Mr. Meaner And I'm lookin' for this bitch, I heard she got credit cards and shit Blank cheques and money orders, this bitch is gettin' rich Plus her niggas' gettin' ki's like a locksmith She's slippin' at the Fetti, tell her sore I grab my glock swift Meeked up around her neck and told that bitch to drive home Give up that credit cards, purse, gold and that mobile phone We get to crib this is on the alarm Open up that safe and I just might let you escape with no harm I lied, cause I beat that bitch badly with my pistol Got some ki's, some keys and I was in the wind like a whistle I kicked the Rockwilder and hopped the fence Then I signalled Gin, Cocktail, and torch that niggas resident And left my note on his six-hundred Benz Thanks for slippin' with my bag of chips, thanks for the ends |
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