Lyrics:

[Hook 4X]
(“Bass”) (“Bass rocks” “Bass rocks”)

[Verse 1: E-40]
Bass rocks, nigga; bass rocks, nigga
Get your cake up; cake up, nigga
Still in the loop like a hula hoop
Still connected like a router
Got a line on the powder
Still got a whole lot of power
Still the same muthafucka you met a while ago, a real one
Not a hoe, being thorough is all I know
I’m a pro at getting dough
Or should I say guap
If I had to, I could cook a ki in a wok
Bust my Glock, my 2-2 nickel across a hater face
Break his fuckin’ jaw, knock his teeth out so he can’t taste
Have him eating out a straw, for disrespecting a staple
Get your car riddled, split in half like a bagel
Fuckin’ around in the yola game, gotta be careful
They’ll rob for dinero, pull up in all-black apparel
Hit their target like an arrow
Shoot you in your bone marrow
Tear up out in a Chevy souped up Camaro
BIATCH!

[Hook 4X]
(“Bass”) (“Bass rocks” “Bass rocks”)

[Verse 2]
See he throws the whole unit in a big ass gumbo pot
Foam, stir, let it settle to make it lot
Take it out of the oowop and let it dry
Doing what I gotta do to get by
Yola I supply, break it down into zips
Halfs, quarters, kibbles n bits
Overkill, extras, it’s all in the wrist
They’ll walk from Cali to Texas long as they get they fix
Pitching no-hitters and shutouts, you get my drift
The players on plug with that
I cop from them when the drought ‘bout to hit
Everybody that I know got a banger, extended clip
Rather be caught with than without, some real shit
He got too much time on his hands
I ain’t got no time to be playin’
He too busy trippin’ off somebody else’s wealth
I’m too busy stacking dollars taller than myself
BIATCH!

[Hook 4X]
(“Bass”) (“Bass rocks” “Bass rocks”)

[Verse 3]
All money ain’t good money and every time ain’t the right time
I don’t be out here stuntin’, clumsy, looking like a plate of swidnine
I be under on the tuck, sitting soft with the seat reclined
Looking out for the smirchers, the kind that pull on the side
And try to slather a player, arm out the window from the blind
Hit your nigga at a exit, a light or a stop sign
Even I was broke, you wouldn’t know it ‘cause I’m hella laced
I hibernate ‘til I’m up again, won’t show my face
‘Cause they used to me looking a certain way, ‘bout my pay
Since the ‘80s I’ve been having it my way to this day
I’m an inner-city icon from the 7’s
Where they go from the shoulders and tote weapons
Got that fire like a welder, banked up like a ready teller
Correctional institution, revenge and retribution
They’ll steal you out here, mayne, and I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout boostin’
Be ‘bout it, my nigga, or do it movin’
BIATCH!

[Hook 4X]
(“Bass”) (“Bass rocks” “Bass rocks”)