Hit the Floor - MC Eiht

We came in the door, said it before

West Side, East Side when we hit the floor

Got the paper for sure, got chronic galore

And the ho’s keep beggin us to blow some more

Money makes the world stay up (that's right)

Fiends to hook us up on the late night hype

G’s flips on the corner while we chill in the club

Short skirts put in work, straight show you love

You know the title

Heavy weight nigga with the green, everybody know the spot

One times ain’t hot

Gots the bomb

Everybody tell your friends

C-P-T and the L-B back again

Bring your heat

Eiht and Daz with the paper

One time won’t be gafflin for the caper

Can’t see me Two black niggas from the West

Decide where they hoo-ride, two of the best

No contest

C-P-T so get it straight

Y’all don’t know the program, switches on my Brougham

Skates to the L-B, three wheel motion

C-P-T chill with G’s right next to the ocean

We came in the door, said it before

West Side, East Side when we hit the floor

Got the paper fo’sho’got chronic galore

And the ho’s keep beggin us to blow some more

We too rough, we too tough

And the niggas that I hang with is just too much

And we’ll fuck you up When we acting up Dat Nigga Daz and Eiht straight fucking shit up Swervin down the block as my system knock

Niggas take what you got, get trip, you get shot

Come through like we usually do for you and who

Draped in blue

Nuthin but riders in my crew

Throwing it up Mad dog, all in my cup

Smokin blunt after blunt ready to fuck shit up Nigga what?

How you want it, ain’t no survivors, just goners

It’s gettin hectic when the 9 start spittin

Burn around and lay every rapper down in your town

Wash 'em up just like the verdict come down

We’ll take your shit

Your bitch and your grip

And this is how it is when we take your shit

We came in the door, said it before

West Side, East Side when we hit the floor

Got the paper fo’sho’got chronic galore

And the ho’s keep beggin us to blow some more…

Hit and run

Just for fun

But it ain’t no fun if the homies can’t have none

Stop fakin', baby, cause we got paper to spend

More peso’s, guaranteed to clock those

Suppose I be’s the nigga with static

Watch my back, always packs the automatic

East coast, West coast fuck that, you dig?

Niggas in your own hood’ll split your wig

But me, I’m on the premium

Never on the regular

Connects in bound, trips on my cellular

I’m telling ya It must be the good life, son

Land of the sunshine, Crystal wine

Keeps one time thinking, suspicious

Twenty-six S-5 hun', twenty inches

Must be the money from the rob, they don’t know

Must be the money from the gang, fo’sho'

We came in the door, said it before

West Side, East Side when we hit the floor

Got the paper fo’sho', got chronic galore

And the ho’s keep beggin us to blow some more

Who’s your friend or not?

Your old partners from the block

Take and pop shots

Trying to put my life to a stop

Prepare for the murder spree

Bustin’until I’m free of these bastards

Never heard of me and never knew of me Supposed to love me, homie, show me Through all the shit that we been through homie, you owe me Make you pay fo’sho', it is rough

Off brand niggas getting rushed

On the boulevard, times is really getting rough

Call your bluff, why you wanna always front

To be a all day nigga it’s a all day stunt

I’m from the East side of Long Beach, and we roll deep

Creep and blow your whole head off, you’re caught in the street

Cause

We came in the door, said it before

West Side, East Side when we hit the floor

Got the paper fo’sho', got chronic galore

And the ho’s keep beggin us to blow some more…

One two one two

I said the Half Ounce crew

Yeah

Eihthype in the house

Daz Dillinger in the house