E-40 Fast Lane Lyrics

The Block Brochure: Welcome to the Soil 1, 2 & 3 Track Listing
CD 1
  • 1 Fast Lane
  • 2 They Point
  • 3 Rock Stars
  • 4 Outta Town
  • 5 What's My Name
  • 6 Slummin'
  • 7 Do the Playa
  • 8 Cutlass
  • 9 Turn It Up
  • 10 Let's Fuck
  • 11 Bust Moves
  • 12 Can You Feel It?
  • 13 What Is It Over?
  • 14 In the Ghetto
  • 15 Rollin'
  • 16 In This Thang Breh
  • 17 Mary Jane
  • 18 Help Me
  • 19 Blame It on the DJ
  • 20 Beatin' the Trunk Loose
    CD 2
  • 1 I'm Laced
  • 2 On the Case
  • 3 Function
  • 4 Tryna Get It
  • 5 Street Nigga
  • 6 The Other Day Ago
  • 7 This Is the Life
  • 8 Sell Everything
  • 9 My Life
  • 10 Grey Skies
  • 11 With the Shit
  • 12 Hittin' a Lick
  • 13 This Shit Hard
  • 14 Scorpio
  • 15 Red & Blue Lights
  • 16 Zombie
  • 17 Memory Lane
  • 18 I Know I Can Make It
  • 19 I Can Do Without You
  • 20 I'm Doin' It
    CD 3
  • 1 Jealous
  • 2 Wasted
  • 3 What You Smoking On
  • 4 Making My Rounds
  • 5 Catch a Fade
  • 6 Be You
  • 7 It's Curtains
  • 8 Stove on High
  • 9 Get Loose
  • 10 Gargoyle Serenade
  • 11 Pussy Loud
  • 12 I Ain't Doin' Nothin'
  • 13 What Happened to Them Days
  • 14 I'm on His Top
  • 15 Get Ya Weight Up
  • 16 Salute You
  • 17 40 & Hiero
  • 18 Sidewalk Memorial
  • 19 Over Here
  • 20 My Whip Hot
  • Living the life in the quick lane only the strongest survive
    These streets will swallow you up mayne, and eat you alive
    Can't be no poodle, run tuck your tail and hide
    They'll spaghetti your noodle, mayne, element of surprise
    It's going around mayne, death in the air
    Better not be scared cause hyenas can smell fear
    There's not a lot of love but it's a whole lot of hate
    Beware of your surroundings they're starving they ain't ate
    The lick of fire awaits for those with no souls
    Hot like a stove, hotter than hot coals
    I'n not a knock, I'm the server, got hella clients waitin'
    **** the FDA; the food and drug administration
    That's the thought process of a soil soldier
    6's on the [?] pistola, spinach and yola
    I'm talking realer dope money this hustler makin'
    And I don't cattin' and capin' and cupcakin'
    I go bad on a batch man, I ain't playin'
    Knock a broad without even lifting a hand
    Ain't even gotta touch her, mind games mayne
    Brain **** her, I ain't lyin'
    Never been a *****-made ************ just a professional sucker-ducker
    I'm one ***** rich ************, courthouses and diamond clusters
    ****s with hustlers, not no busters allowed around us
    No sap suckers, snitches, *****es, or punk cowards

    [Chorus]
    Yeah, ***** having thangs
    Fancy cars and rings
    This hustler bout' his chains
    ***** really out here doin' it? (Doin it)
    Claimin' hella fame
    Everybody know my name
    I'm deep off in this game
    Whatever money that I get to (Whatcha livin?)

    In the fastlane (x8)

    Looking up with greenbacks on your mind is a good sign
    My name ringing like a high school bell, like a church chime
    This ain't chameleon, but go get a glass of wine
    Listen to me preach my rhyme, sit back and recline
    I'm too real to be unreal, too truthful to be fake
    Daddy and mommy went they're separate ways when I was eight
    But it made me great, more stronger and god-willing
    A few years later, I'm worth a few million
    Top billing, killing em' with my independent grip
    Got rid of my digital scale and started making hits
    Flipping all kinds of whips, Benzes, Cutlass, and Lexus's
    Me and the clique of St. Charles, god was blessing us
    Successfulness, all praises due to Allah
    Jesus, Jahova, the most highest almighty god
    Reverend Thurman and Mother Thurman, I miss you much
    I know you up in heaven watching over us
    If I can help people, that's what they taught me to do
    Can't save the world, but I can help save a few
    People talk behind my back, laugh and smiled all in my face
    Said my voice was too squeaky and my style was a disgrace
    Now I'm hittin', they ain't laughin' all the way to the bank
    Making deposits and promoting my own track
    Backing with my nose in the air, like my **** don't stank
    Came in the game blindfolded, stressin', guessin', walking the plank

    [Chorus]

    Written by: Allen Anthony Richardson, Anthony Pka Tone Capone Gilmour, Charles Williams, Earl Stevens, Rodney Waller
    Lyrics © BMG RIGHTS MANAGEMENT US, LLC

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