Still-Karter
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TXT Still-Karter 文本歌词
yeah n***a, mc ren up in this motherf**ker
(west west y'all)
yeah, l.a. n***az
l.a. n***az rule the world n***a
y'all n***az gotta recognize, yaknahmsayin?
n***az don't wanna peep game, yaknahmsayin?
but this s**t come all the way back around here
my n***a dre, droppin heat box on y'all bitch-ass
yaknahmsayin? you gotta recognize
l.a. n***az, connected all over the motherf**kin world, n***a
recognize this
now in my younger days i used to sport a rag
backpack full of cans plus a four-four mag
g'd from the feet up
blued up from the zoo, a pi' grew up
loc'n, smokin and drinkin til we threw up (threw up)
at ?? park, taggin, hittin fools up
ditchin my class, just to f**k yo' school up
you don't wanna blast, n***a tuck yo' tool up
but don't sleep, y'all n***az quick to shoot you
now there's another motherf**ker with no future
but time bomb much smoother when i manuever, d**e like cuba
i'm comin "straight outta compton" with a loose cannon
smoke big green, call it bruce banner
watch your manners, at last another blast from the top notch
from way back with the pop rocks, i pop lock witcha
picture this, dr. dre twistin wit tha liks
and hittman bought a fix
don't trip, it's a time bomb in this bitch
wait a minute it's on, i tell it like a true mackadelic
w**d and c*****e sold seperate, check it
from sundown to sunup -- clown done run up
the aftermath'll be two in your gut, n***a what?
we roll deep, smoke on w**d drink and back heat
requirements for survival each day -- in l.a.!
it don't stop, we still mash in hot pursuit from the cops
analyze why we act this way -- in l.a.!
gimme that mic fool, it's a west coast jack move
they call me hitt - cause i spit like gats do
cock me back
bust caps for my max crew, at fairfax
who used to wear air max shoes, that's true
but i grew up where n***az jack you, harass you
blast you, for that set you claim (where you from?)
mash on you for your turkish chain, c.k. b.k.
blued up or flame, i ran wit a gang
i helped n***az get, jacked for they dana dane's
my pants hang below my waistline
i look humble wanna rumble? (yeah yeah)
i bang though, like vince carter from the baseline
don't waste my time
f**k a scrap in killa cali, ak's and 9's
one-time's, sunshines, and fine-ass bitches
hawaiian thai, drive-by, six-fo's on switches
i was raised in the hood called what-the-dif'
where the brothers in the hood, refused to go hollywood
slugs for the f**k of it
anybody hatin on us can suck a dick
if i catch you touchin mine you catch a flatline, dead on the floor
better than yours, drivin away gettin head from a whore
it's avirex-to-the-z
f**kin with me might get you banned from tv,
cassette and cd it's all mine the whole nine the right time
multiply, we don't die, the streets don't lie
what, so neither do i, i'm bad for your health
like puttin a pistol up to your face and blastin yourself
five in the mornin, burglars at my do'
glock forty-five in my dresser drawer
let em come in blaow he see the thunder roll
roll with n***az, who by fifths by the fo'
and bruise by the case
slap you in the face with the bass, dr. dre laced
likwit kings wit sedans and gold rings
haters fold the style, but can't find no openings
chorus
in l.a.
that's how we ride (4x)
