The song lyrics were written by the band Van Halen, as they were asked to write a song for the 1979 movie "Over the Edge" starring Matt Dillon. The movie (and the lyrics, although more obliquely) are about bored, rebellious youth with nothing better to do than get into trouble. If you see the movie, these lyrics will make more sense. It's a great movie if you grew up in the 70s/80s you'll definitely remember some of these characters from your own life. Fun fact, after writing the song, Van Halen decided not to let the movie use it.
Hoppin' over barbed wire fences, nigga
Had this one broad right, she was so damn sprung
She used to hold my motherfuckin', motherfuckin' sack, nigga
Thought you thought, nigga
In a motherfuckin' V.H.S, uh motherfuckin' cannister (in a what?)
Nigga, yeah ayy, I promise you, nigga, this game been so damn good
(Said this rap game's been good to me)
Hard times
(But I don't know how long that's gonna be, yeah)
I hope I don't go back to slangin' ya-yo (don't wanna go)
Slangin' yayo (slangin' what?) to get my mail (oh, no)
Hope I don't go back to slangin' ya-yo (don't wanna go back)
Slangin' yayo (slangin' what?) to get my mail (to get)
Been a hustler since birth, mama sellin' dinners for the church
Red-handed, caught me stealin' money out her purse
Got branded, permanent whip scars on my back
'Cause I used to get beat, with racin' car tracks
But now me got wealth, holdin' a conference call on my
Hands-free car telephone, lookin' like I'm talkin' to myself
Shootin' the breeze, cuttin' it up real tough like
Choppin' it up like true business men
Talkin about it, by the way
B, what we doin' this week on SoundScan?
If I ain't in Japan, I'm in the Valley (Valley)
Or maybe next door in Gary Payton bowling alley
Or maybe at the shootin' range, me and Banks (Banks)
Or on the golf course, with Merton Hanks (Merton Hanks)
Or we lay in the sun, give me my propers (propers)
With a beat that's out of this world, lookin' down on doctors
Sippin' on Port, watchin' my kids play basketball
In the backyard on a forty by sixty-three foot long sports court (what?)
Hope I don't go back to slangin' ya-yo (ha)
Slangin' yayo (slangin' what?) to get my mail
I hope I don't go back to slangin' ya-yo (slangin' what?)
Slangin' yayo (and what else?) to get my mail
Built a spot up in the wilderness, coyotes and wild boars (bitch)
Dupont registry aluminum pool table made strictly for outdoors
Twenty inch gold super Bravos on my everybody ain't able
To be blessed with a successful-ass independent-ass record label
Check it out, marbles (marbles), I got the game from my Uncle Saint Charles (Saint Charles)
Used to bank across the street at Wells Fargo (Wells Fargos)
But now it's Merrill Lynch (Merill Lynch)
And just think (just think), I used to sit the bench
I remember gettin' chased by the cops, had to get my stomach pumped
Swallowed a quarter ounce of rocks, late afternoon
Po-po waitin' for me outside of Vallejo Kaiser Permanente
Emergency room with Glocks, ready to Rodney King me to death
Somehow I managed to make my escape through
The back of the cafeteria by the vending machine department quickly
Found myself runnin' through the Friendship Apartment Complex
Over there by the railroad tracks, around the corner from the
People's Continuation High School
Somewhere off in Lofas, behind Je-nai's Liquor (bitch)
Hope I don't go back to slangin' ya-yo (check it out)
Slangin' yayo, to get my mail (check it out, check it out, check it out, check it, check it out)
I hope I don't go back to slangin' ya-yo (I don't want too)
Slangin' yayo (slangin' yayo) to get my mail (to get my mail)
Check it out, dope game ain't goin'
Now it seems the, white-collared crimes, are hookin' up phones
Charlie Hustle, I got a few mathematics (Charlie Hustle)
I'm doing a compilation, should I go with Phunky Phat Graph-X?
I tell them, "Hell yeah that's a done deal"
Dude and them off the hinges
Dude and them did my cover and my bus benches (bus benches)
Game warrior invested, worldwide Sick-Wid-It shit, independent chips
Bitch
Ayy, see ayy, I'ma tell you, nigga
That's the thing about this whole thing that jump off
It's a fool 'cause a mothafucka take his bloody money, right?
Until he sit up there and he look and he say
"Hold on man, hold on man"
A mothafucka, you know what I'm sayin'?
You can either be at this shit
Or you can be gone with this shit
And you look at it and then you say, "Man hold on
Let me translate this shit, let me translate into some marbles
Let me liquidate my motherfuckin' revenelles"
You understand what I say? 40-Water now, you understand?
Ayy, ayy, but look, check this out
I'm here to sprinkle motherfuckers, lace they tennis shoes
Teach 'em about the motherfuckin' game-orienfested situations
That goes down in the motherfuckin' motherfuckin' soils weepolations
I ain't bullshittin', nigga
I hope I don't go back to slangin' ya-yo (I ain't bullshittin', nigga)
Slangin' yayo, to get my mail (I ain't bullshittin', nigga)
It's too many jealous brothers in this game
I can't stay the same, I gotta get mine
I hope I don't go back to slangin' ya-yo
Slangin' yayo, to get my mail (ooh)
Hey, yeah
Don't wanna go
Don't wanna go, don't wanna go
Don't wanna go back, back to the game (to get your mail)
Hey (bitch)
Had this one broad right, she was so damn sprung
She used to hold my motherfuckin', motherfuckin' sack, nigga
Thought you thought, nigga
In a motherfuckin' V.H.S, uh motherfuckin' cannister (in a what?)
Nigga, yeah ayy, I promise you, nigga, this game been so damn good
(Said this rap game's been good to me)
Hard times
(But I don't know how long that's gonna be, yeah)
I hope I don't go back to slangin' ya-yo (don't wanna go)
Slangin' yayo (slangin' what?) to get my mail (oh, no)
Hope I don't go back to slangin' ya-yo (don't wanna go back)
Slangin' yayo (slangin' what?) to get my mail (to get)
Been a hustler since birth, mama sellin' dinners for the church
Red-handed, caught me stealin' money out her purse
Got branded, permanent whip scars on my back
'Cause I used to get beat, with racin' car tracks
But now me got wealth, holdin' a conference call on my
Hands-free car telephone, lookin' like I'm talkin' to myself
Shootin' the breeze, cuttin' it up real tough like
Choppin' it up like true business men
Talkin about it, by the way
B, what we doin' this week on SoundScan?
If I ain't in Japan, I'm in the Valley (Valley)
Or maybe next door in Gary Payton bowling alley
Or maybe at the shootin' range, me and Banks (Banks)
Or on the golf course, with Merton Hanks (Merton Hanks)
Or we lay in the sun, give me my propers (propers)
With a beat that's out of this world, lookin' down on doctors
Sippin' on Port, watchin' my kids play basketball
In the backyard on a forty by sixty-three foot long sports court (what?)
Hope I don't go back to slangin' ya-yo (ha)
Slangin' yayo (slangin' what?) to get my mail
I hope I don't go back to slangin' ya-yo (slangin' what?)
Slangin' yayo (and what else?) to get my mail
Built a spot up in the wilderness, coyotes and wild boars (bitch)
Dupont registry aluminum pool table made strictly for outdoors
Twenty inch gold super Bravos on my everybody ain't able
To be blessed with a successful-ass independent-ass record label
Check it out, marbles (marbles), I got the game from my Uncle Saint Charles (Saint Charles)
Used to bank across the street at Wells Fargo (Wells Fargos)
But now it's Merrill Lynch (Merill Lynch)
And just think (just think), I used to sit the bench
I remember gettin' chased by the cops, had to get my stomach pumped
Swallowed a quarter ounce of rocks, late afternoon
Po-po waitin' for me outside of Vallejo Kaiser Permanente
Emergency room with Glocks, ready to Rodney King me to death
Somehow I managed to make my escape through
The back of the cafeteria by the vending machine department quickly
Found myself runnin' through the Friendship Apartment Complex
Over there by the railroad tracks, around the corner from the
People's Continuation High School
Somewhere off in Lofas, behind Je-nai's Liquor (bitch)
Hope I don't go back to slangin' ya-yo (check it out)
Slangin' yayo, to get my mail (check it out, check it out, check it out, check it, check it out)
I hope I don't go back to slangin' ya-yo (I don't want too)
Slangin' yayo (slangin' yayo) to get my mail (to get my mail)
Check it out, dope game ain't goin'
Now it seems the, white-collared crimes, are hookin' up phones
Charlie Hustle, I got a few mathematics (Charlie Hustle)
I'm doing a compilation, should I go with Phunky Phat Graph-X?
I tell them, "Hell yeah that's a done deal"
Dude and them off the hinges
Dude and them did my cover and my bus benches (bus benches)
Game warrior invested, worldwide Sick-Wid-It shit, independent chips
Bitch
Ayy, see ayy, I'ma tell you, nigga
That's the thing about this whole thing that jump off
It's a fool 'cause a mothafucka take his bloody money, right?
Until he sit up there and he look and he say
"Hold on man, hold on man"
A mothafucka, you know what I'm sayin'?
You can either be at this shit
Or you can be gone with this shit
And you look at it and then you say, "Man hold on
Let me translate this shit, let me translate into some marbles
Let me liquidate my motherfuckin' revenelles"
You understand what I say? 40-Water now, you understand?
Ayy, ayy, but look, check this out
I'm here to sprinkle motherfuckers, lace they tennis shoes
Teach 'em about the motherfuckin' game-orienfested situations
That goes down in the motherfuckin' motherfuckin' soils weepolations
I ain't bullshittin', nigga
I hope I don't go back to slangin' ya-yo (I ain't bullshittin', nigga)
Slangin' yayo, to get my mail (I ain't bullshittin', nigga)
It's too many jealous brothers in this game
I can't stay the same, I gotta get mine
I hope I don't go back to slangin' ya-yo
Slangin' yayo, to get my mail (ooh)
Hey, yeah
Don't wanna go
Don't wanna go, don't wanna go
Don't wanna go back, back to the game (to get your mail)
Hey (bitch)
Lyrics submitted by SongMeanings
Hope I Don't Go Back Lyrics as written by Jonathan G Lind Anthony Banks
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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