Verse 1 (Killa Tay)
We pump slugs, and punk thugs for their drugs
When push come to shove ain't no motherf*ckin love
Bow down, we just hit the town
But we brung sh*t like Hitler, bail em with a Sigma
Switch with the first shot, gotta check the spot
Burnin rubber out the parkin lot, pointin out the window
Stuck off indo, bumpin my n*gga C-Bo
b*tches all in my business cos they think I move kilo's
I, call my people's on the mobile, gang global, nationwide distribution
Now I'm posted up in Houston
Texas, ridin a Lexus but it's supremo
n*ggas set trippin, so a solo weapon is essential
Keep the pepper spray on my car keys, only f*ck with hard Gz
Still get my ball on like Barkley
Nothin but the California hog in me
Touchin triggers, real n*ggas, straight doggin freaks
Chorus:
Can we all ball?
Can we all ball?
Can we all ball?
Verse 2 (JT the Bigga Figga)
We take the occupation when movin, my hustle never stop
Check what? Some babies camera's peep the blocks, stash the Glocks
Posi's squashed, ship ki's and here there's thousand dollar bidders
Rim hats with feathers, more money than Perry Ellis
Never known behind ???, talkin "let my nuts hang"
Trade ya the .4-5 and the Tek 9 for a drop Mustang
A long line of killers, drug dealers with stripes
Just schoolin, you're rollin pontentially, could take your advice
(C-Bo)
We count big face and straight laces by the hundreds
Ragtops and big blocks, gettin the money
Sippin X-O Hen, and I get it for the 1-10
In a convertible Benz, fearin hunted, on twins
They call me Bo-Loc, and fo' sho' I smoke the dodo
And flip the '97 Sport to shake the po-po
High rollers count, tall dollars will never fall
In this sh*t for the cash n*gga, enter, forever ball
Chorus
Verse 3 (C-Bo)
We are surprised in this rap game
Straight gangsta sh*t makes the world go round, I'm nuttin nice
On a dice, bets are more wet and crush ice
X-O, stretch Rolls, Bza's and Lexo's
And f*ck the best hoes, and never slippin like Magic Johnson
Keeps my top down, increase my hatto, from Sac to Compton
Rolex down, fools shot up, solid ice
The gin in the cask was still followed by the vice
In the S-Class, we does it on the gas
On my cell, Bo poppin my collar, all about my cash
How many diggers can you scat? Now picture that
Without the feds on your back, homey, and that's a fact
We attack with Mac 1-12's to protect my sack
I pick up my pack, tellin the order "handle that"
It ain't no room for you busters cos we knuckle ya downfall
Player haters, f*ck y'all, let these ballers all ball
Chorus:
Can we all ball?
Can we all ball?
Can we all ball?
Can we all ball?
Tell me, can we ball?