This is my mother fucking house, eh I'm by the front door
Here about a blond haired bitch name Sisco
She'll do anything for daddy man the bitch go
Tell 'em what the doormat read baby big blow
Uh Pyrex and a digi scale
Fuck gloves I got yay all in my fingernails
And I can leave a set of white fingerprints
Chris Tucker, Laurence Tate, Dead Presidents
Dead white boys spread across the coffee table
Don't know maybe I'll start me up a record label
Fuck it get high and call what's her name
She like to play this little game called fuck a brain
Lord when you talk them numbers sound sophisticated
It ain't nothing even the pitbull's affiliated
Yeah and trust best gettin' bust on
G shit even the coupes got Chucks on
Yeah
This is my mother fuckin' house nigga
This is where I do it at
You gotta problem with that
Yeah big dog nigga
If you ain't a big dog stay on the porch nigga
Dog house or nothing
Dog house everything nigga
I got a whole house trap house and a flat
I'm on parole bitch so I need my pistol back
These rap niggas is too soft
I built this from the ground up pound up
Until I knock your roof off
New boss Snoop off and on and
Heed him in the morning catch him while he yawnin'
My bitch is on the phone and my homies 'bout to zone in
Cracky smacky dippy whippy habitual potential
Strip for your credentials
Mental unessential shits official like a referee with a whistle
Nah my nigga shits official like a jihad Muslim with a missile
Catch me in the air we close to the nickel block
Nigga went platinum but I still serve that nickel rock
Hard times bad times fuck doing jail time
Cook it up rock it up bag it up and sell mine
This my mother fuckin' house
Take your mother fuckin' shoes off when you step in my house partner
Matter of fact take your hat off too
Nigga this the round table nigga
If you can't stand the heat get your punk ass up out the kitchen
I'm in this mother fuckin'
This is my house in the middle of the trap
I'm gonna start sweating like I ran a fucking lap
Customers on hold stressing they keep coming back
Three, six, five, two, four, seven, I got Jumbo Jacks
Would you like your cheese with that
Yeah I like my cheese with that
Crack in the box round the clock
Open all night pitching rocks
Serving that goop stuck in my loop
Pitching that tragic all in the traffic
Me and my group me and my cabinet
Goobly goop, goobly bag it
I got the key to this spot break in you don't get popped
Fuck around and get molly whopped in here better not attract no cops
Gotta hang around chop up in here who want what I got in stock
Not from Atlanta but I got heart
Chickens birdies quails baking soda scales
Heavy weights exhale 5 star hotels
I'm a grinder about my grit
Trying to increase my profit quick
50 thou under the couch
This is my mother fucking house
This is my mother fucking this is my mother fucking
This is my mother fucking this is my fucking house
This is my mother fucking this is my mother fucking
This is my mother fucking this is my fucking house
This is my mother fucking this is my mother fucking
This is my mother fucking this is my fucking house
This is my mother fucking this is my mother fucking
This is my mother fucking fucking fucking house
My F**n House Lyrics performed by E-40 are property and copyright of the authors, artists and labels. You should note that My F**n House Lyrics performed by E-40 is only provided for educational purposes only and if you like the song you should buy the CD