More bass, more trouble, more volume to the micMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micThis *** jammin', come through slammin' Look up in my hand and you'll probably see a cannonLast man standin', if niggas get to blamin' California beer and you lookin' like salmonCooler than a Fannin' with us, there's no fairnessTuli on the way, so with us, there's no shellin'Pump Jackie Chan and Trunk Van DammitHatin' on the family, you slumped in the van, manMy hoes pop on handstands, weed is like the SandmanPut your ass to sleep, rollin' sweets by the grandfamThat nigga so high, he probably never, ever landAnd if he did, he'd probably end up somewhere in JapanWith lean in my socky, I'm broccoli and teriyakiShe wanna sucky sucky, got her hands in my jockeysLike that nigga Ed, I'ma go hardyKnow what I needs when I turns out to partyMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micCue the soil, just got my whip fixedTrunk soundin' like Chewbacca tryin' to get up out that bitchStash box for a fitWith the next nigga chick, best believeI'm talkin' on my sidekick, she rollin' up the weedI don't live in this world no more, I live in the skyYou wanna know why?Cause I be high as flyin' saucer fuelAnd I don't hang around niggas that ain't coolI'm talkin' about to the point where your own shadowDon't wanna hang around, yeahNice guys finish last and stay brokeBad guys finish first and push dopeI'm a money motivator, not a player haterBought my Chevy from a fiend, not the auto traderRunnin' around and bumped into my fella once poorBut now he got it made millionaire nowBut repeated to seventh gradeYou can tell by the way that this boss walkI'm a pay boy, I like to hear myself talkMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micHaters on my line, show a nigga no loveBang on my hip, pokin' out my pro clubMy life's like belly, it's like I co-rid itI'm number 24 when it come to sick with itOn my screen, them eagle pipes hella loudGot your bitch ass sittin' on crocodileGot my third eye, lookin' for the cop carMore bass, more bass, I'm a rock starLet the wolves out, men they move meKnock me, knock me, knock me, knock meWell it's lyin' through your front screenI'm still in it, any nigga could get itYeah, anybody a subject to get the fuckin' businessBack to the Donna, throw em' on the kuhMore volume, that'll make the trunk jumpI rock goatee but not southerentI got pink slip, no stutteringMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micMore bass, more trouble, more volume to the micMore bass, more treble, more volume to the micMore bass, more treble, more volume to the micB-B-B-B-B-B-Bass