it's your boy shadow straight out the sdca look what corrupt from that dog
pound gangsta clique.
My boy Bad Boy from that Vegas.
Young G. Young Gotti.
Blitz it, bitch.
Don't get it twisted, bitch.
Cop the foes.
Cop the foes.
The foes.
Pistols pop the dust off the hinges.
Tremendous.
Stupid with the all blue lenses.
Stupid niggas, bitches, bitches, bitches, bitches, niggas, niggas, niggas, bitches, y'all.
Pippin', slashin', checkin', collectin', cashin', yeah, with the young.
38s, 40s, 44s, four nickels, pull a slug out a nigga, knock a plug out a nigga, Coco.
Because the local pop.
Cracked and snapped.
Stopped and cocked back.
Bitch niggas, bitch niggas talking about them all.
Yeah, right.
Breath, breath, breath.
It's early in the morning and I'm hitting the ball.
Invent them at these haters Let them know it's on They drop bombs Make your shit explode You won't
Bitch, shouts out of control, banks the mold, and I hold the world to leave you cold.
that I rock some believable weapons concealable what you don't see can hurt
It's a bush.
I heard you was a
Your style's minimal.
You sound pitiful, but believe me, you don't want to settle down.
Fuck a choking pack.
I'm the west side of SD.
I bring you stack.
I'm a weed.
Park my own habit and fuck everybody I'm low in my art of math in Southern California
When bald people's tattoos run up on ya You ain't knowin', the weed keeps blowin'
Bitch, you ain't knowin' bout Cali's five women Southern California We're ball fools with tattoos, run a phone, yeah
You ain't knowin' the weed keeps blowin' when it gon' keep spillin' But you ain't knowin' about catty's fine
You see the body goes to the hood, I drop blacks like butter.
Blewed up with my boy Cooper, blue chops in him.
And they say from the streets of BG, fuck a CD.
You little rapping hoes, pass me.
She got the man respect.
I got a gun and I'm blasting it.
It's Blacks and Macs, cats and sex.
I pop pills in them cats, you
Bitch, I'm in the studio with cats and bitch.
Laughing, back to the loop, tubing the coupons in the back.
Give me the gun, now blast.
Give me the beat, now rap.
It's like that bitch.
She's the fastest, slowest, but catchin'
gold I'm can't beg you snatching hoes left the caroocha locked in the driveway it's Friday we out in the guy is a
Kelly is bad boy.
And I'm deadly gifted in the lap with the Nestle twisted.
California, where bald fools with tattoos run a phonia.
You ain't knowin', the weed keeps
We're always gonna keep spinning.
Bitch, you ain't knowin' about Cali's five women.
Southern California.
When bald fools with tattoos run up on ya You ain't know it, the weed keeps blowin'
Bitch, you ain't knowin' bout Cali's five women.
West Coast.
West, West, West Coast.
West Coast is back.
West Coast.
West, West, West.
