Текст песни
Brrt
Ay
Ay
In about four seconds, a gangsta will begin to speak
Well, it's the mad chicken hawk with the dirty lick style
Been pullin' 211's ever since TaDow
It's ten million ways to die, choose it, Mack'll hit the loop and loose it
Off this gang-bang music
Slaughter water got the room stunk
I smoke and make dough like Trump, cookin' powder 'til they chunk, punk
Straight off dust, nigga trust I'll bust
And cross 'em out and put a K if they ain't down wit' us
It's off the hook, nigga, I'm a Westside crook, nigga
Put 40 motherfuckin' dollars on my books, nigga
I'm not a MC, I'm not a G
I mean I'm A-to-fuckin'-Z and everythang in between
Rappers like gangbangin', 'cause I'm in it to the fullest
And my hood ain't never dodgin' bullets
It's all about the Bloods and Crips, dawgs and rips
Corners and dips, bitches and chips, nigga
Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo, what's this? My frickeler radar system
Detects busta B-I-itches on the premises
Niggas be dissin' on a down low
So now my motto's, "Fuck every rapper from the East and the West Coast"
New school, old school, I hate you motherfuckers
I'm steady plottin', wipin' my ass with ya album covers
Cross 'em out and put a K
Even on Sundays nigga, to motherfuckin' holidays
Hey, I cross 'em out and put a K, Inglewood
Nigga, to South Central LA
Ay, I cross 'em out and put a K, Inglewood
Nigga, to South Central LA
Ay, I cross 'em out and put a K, Inglewood
Nigga, to South Central LA
Ay, I cross 'em out and put a K, Inglewood
Nigga, to South Central LA
God-damn nigga, this shit make me sick
All these West Coast cowards ridin' New York dick (brrt)
Bustas get sprayed wearin' high-top fades
And Kangol's backwards with dark-ass shades
No switchblades, nigga, we shoot
That's how it is on the West when you're true to your roots (huh)
So kill the action, punk, hoochie bitches clown
Nigga get your sag on and keep your pants legs down
Check it, ho, shut your mouth and get naked
I'm connected and ain't no bitches singin' on this record
No R&B tracks, just niggas on wax
Kickin' facts with these gang-bang raps
Every nigga in the industry wanna rap with me
Like it's all good, you ain't from my hood
Nigga, I don't even like your shit, I don't like your crew
I'm true, you're through, nigga, fuck you
Nigga get on, this shit is wack
Fuck that, I bust you in the can with a motherfuckin' bumper jack
Spit on ya, shit on ya, when I get on ya, piss on ya
Goin' up in ya, fuckin' ya, 'cause I ain't lovin' none of ya
And even female rappers are gettin' smacked
Stabbed in the titties and kicked in the back
'Cause I'm a westside Connection hoodsta
Far from a lover dishin' nothin' but bullets and dirty rubbers
Ay, I cross 'em out and put a K, Inglewood
Nigga, to South Central LA
Ay, I cross 'em out and put a K, Inglewood
Nigga, to South Central LA
Ay, I cross 'em out and put a K, Inglewood
Nigga, to South Central LA
Ay, I cross 'em out and put a K, Inglewood
Nigga, to South Central LA
Brrt
In about four seconds, a killa will begin to speak
Now you can cross out the bustas and snitches
B-Real and Ms. Muggs is like Hollywood bitches
From the niggas I know in the streets I run through
Swear to God, bitch-real it ain't one dawg that know you (not one)
So watch what you say, who ya talk about, you tweekin'
And keep hogs outcha mouth when ya bitch ass is speakin'
I'm sick wit' it, cap at your dome 'til I hit it
This Westside Connection, Cypress know they can't fuck wit' it
Use to get kisses and hugs, now I'm servin' ya slugs
Fuck B-Real and Muggs, y'all niggas ain't no fuckin' thugs
To yo' surprise, everybody dies
From Columbian neck ties covered with flies
Ya fuckin' maggots, ya fuckin' faggots
I should alert you, every motherfucker that I know wanna hurt you
So when I pull my spray can to spray
I'm sprayin' C-H-K all motherfuckin' day
I once knew this bitch by the name of Q-Tip
Who claim he got a problem with this gangsta shit
Behind closed doors, runnin' his mouth like a trick and
'Til this nigga by the name of Dub caught him slippin'
Tied his ass up and threw him in the trunk
Put a apple in his mouth then dug his ass out
About a month later they found his body stashed
In a trash bag with a cucumber in his ass
Ay, I cross 'em out and put a K, Inglewood
Nigga, to South Central LA
Ay, I cross 'em out and put a K, Inglewood
Nigga, to South Central LA
Ay, I cross 'em out and put a K, Inglewood
Nigga, to South Central LA
Ay, I cross 'em out and put a K, Inglewood
Nigga, to South Central LA
Don't go chasin' waterfalls
Stick to them dicks and balls you're used to
Punk ass motherfucker, brrt