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e-40 & too $hort - my stapler lyrics

[chorus: e-40]
you better have a bulletproof vest
‘cause these n-ggas out here, they be some haters
(haters, mayne)
it’s sick out on these streets, tryna stay up on your feet
everybody got a kater (everybody got a kater)
don’t, don’t leave the house without your stapler
don’t, don’t leave the house without your stapler
don’t, don’t leave the house without your stapler
don’t, don’t leave the house without your stapler

[verse 1: e-40]
i wanna come home, so i don’t leave my home
without my stapler, rollo, thumper, pistol, chrome
‘cause they’ll try to dome you where i’m at and where i’m from
k!llafornia, walk up to you with a drum
most of the time over something small and h-lla dumb
like saying some stupid sh-t when you’re drunk
you could plot your own demise by what comes from your tongue
don’t get k!lled behind a b-tch ‘cause you h-lla sprung
i was raised around older folks that lived a fast pace
went to gamed up university where they lace the unlaced
don’t make me whip out on a n-gga, stay tucked
they don’t play by the rules no more, not even the people that made ‘em up
uh! ain’t no refunds or no rebate
they’ll put a hole in your face like a milk crate
ain’t no talkin’ no more, these n-ggas don’t debate
they appear to be real but they really fidnake (biatch!)

[verse 2: too $hort]
my first gun was a .32 special
six-shooter, don’t f-ck with my cash flow
‘cause my money don’t stop
remember when they first came with glocks
17 shots, i got him
with all them bullets, you better pop him
‘cause them sh-t-starters, you gotta stop him
shoot him in his -ss with a shotgun
those days are long and gone
n-ggas blast now, it goes on and on
it’s way too real when you’re banging something
pistol in his pocket, big thang in the trunk
the bay wasn’t ever about blue and red
but you still might end up dead, shot in the head
that’s how they caught michael
they sprayed him up with that -ssault rifle

[verse 3: e-40]
leaving the house unarmed, is like leaving an arm
was taught that way ever since the day that i was born
punk sh-t is at an all-time high, contagious like a yawn
after a funeral, two months is the extent of which they mourn
he got his hood on his neck and his back, his face and fist
but his hood turned they back, may he rest in p-ss
he’s a goner no longer, he’s been dismissed
call the coroner or donor, cancel christmas
-n-lyzing the ways of the world, i come to find out
is it real when the preacher preaching the missionary shout?
out here we be playing for keeps, especially in a drought
put a tag on his for some bread, a certain amount
it’s gruesome out here, it’s far from gorgeous
christians, scientologists, agnostics, mormons, uh!
i’ma keep it scrill ‘til i meet my maker
won’t leave the house without my stapler

- e 40 too hort lyrics

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