[CHORUS]
S.C. Cartel bumpin fat tracks in your ear
Rollin in your hood and you know it's all good
Rollin down the 'Shaw in my Lexus
[?] rims and my Alpine bumpin
The 808 is thumpin
[VERSE 1: Havikk the Rhime Son]
Dippin down yo block, battery's hot in a rag deuce
Flossin on threes, gold d's for my gees
Slidin [?] dub skatin evil as I swerve
Hit the switch on a bitch, post my Daytons on the curb
Easin through the hood, scope the scenery
Fiendin for the greenery
Gotta stack a end as I bend
North on the 'Shaw past the one-time flossin
Catch a fool slippin on them 100 spokes, he's walkin
Home like a buster, let the Alpine crank
Switch the CD as I fire up the dank
Oh thank God I'm a rider, Rhime Son be
Yo, that gee from the Carte...
With pockets on swoll' and the caviar's callin me
And niggas mad-doggin me bringin out the hog in me
Punk-ass busters wanna show me, they flexin
Parks my six-deuce as I jumps in my Lexus
[CHORUS]
S.C. Cartel bumpin fat tracks in your ear
Rollin in your hood and you know it's all good
[VERSE 2: Prodje'je]
Once again it's on, polish up the chrome on my coupe d
Open up a new [?]
The [?] is in my deck and it's rockin
Shockin, hoes wanna pose but I'm knockin
Boots as I swoops down the 91 West
Yes, I gots to wear a bullet-proof vest
Fools wanna trip so I trip back on em
Fuck they ass up till they hoes don't want em
I'm on em, the Eastside gees and the P
At ease, you don't wanna fuck with these
And we'se the malice, careless muthafuckas
Puttin pooh-puts in a jammie like Smuckers
My knockers holdin shit down like the underground
(We'll make you go round and round)
So now I'm callin up my crew
And what you gonna do
When you see the niggas in blue
[CHORUS]
S.C. Cartel bumpin fat tracks in your ear
Rollin in your hood and you know it's all good
Rollin down the 'Shaw in my Lexus
[?] rims and my Alpine bumpin
The 808 is thumpin
[VERSE 3: Droop & Twin]
One mo' time through yo hood and mines
You're walkin thin lines on these bomb-ass rhymes
And verses, sleepin off in hearses
Niggas on the run cause my flows cause curses
With verses, we ain't in this game for the fame
We just like servin hoods like a muthafuckin hurricane
Muthafuckin busters, me and Twin puttin it down in '96
Tossin up tricks and crossin niggas like chop sticks
Shit I spit hits your ears and cause pain
Stressin out your frame like you got Slim-Fast on your brain
It ain't no thing to be a in-the-cut rider
And it ain't no thing to be a black godfather
Think of a nigga standin 5 foot 6
With some baggy-ass pants and some bomb-ass kicks
Twin gives a fuck, loc, cause I'm a rider
With my nigga Droop be O.G. Westsider
[OUTRO: Havoc the Mouthpiece]
Rollin through your hood is another nigga from the Cartel
who done earned his stripes
bumpin "Flashlight"
tryin to get rich like Richie
[ ] through my city
[CHORUS: repeated till fade]
S.C. Cartel bumpin fat tracks in your ear
Rollin in your hood and you know it's all good
Rollin down the 'Shaw in my Lexus
[?] rims and my Alpine bumpin
[VERSE 1: Prodeje]
You start to sway as the story begins to flow
Another solo, no, but it's another duo
Prodeje hit the map, so zap your back up
Another tale of how a gangsta came up
When I was adolescent my mother tried to school me
But I was wild and acted unruly
So told me, "Yo Prodeje, you could die," but I said, "So?"
Cause sooner or later we all gotta go
I hit the streets and it was on, like Al Capone
I let my khakis hang low when I roam
I come from the heart of South Central
It ain't no joke, and if you choke, it's on the gunsmoke
Now broke as a muthafucka I started to serve
Hangin on the corners gettin on the people's nerves
And when the cops tried to catch me
They don't get shit because a nigga's too slick
I run in an alley and throw my nine in the trees
Jumpin over fences until I couldn't breathe
The other level of walkin the streets
Is way deeper than a nigga bullshittin over beats
The breaks are hard times and county is a pitstop
Before your ass is smoked, another hardknock
Spittin the dope shit, punk, protect yourself
I started with a nine, now I fear for health
I got a .38 scar, reminder of my first slip
I had a job, but see, some niggas still trip
Call me a sucker, but yo, I'm down for some scrappin
I socked one in the head, then the other started cappin
It left the Prodeje scarred for life
Now I'm doin drive-by's and takin niggas' life
It's deeper than death, in the hood it's even deeper still
The cops hate me, they want my cap peeled
Another brother you hate to see
Gettin paid, cause some fear young niggas like me
(Boom-boom-boom on your black ass)
(You want some of this?)
(Then you're a stupid muthafucka)
[VERSE 2: Havikk]
Another flow, nigga move slow or get your ass kicked
Another gangsta with the shit you can't fuck with
I got a heart of steel and a fist of hell
A couple .44, I'm backed by the Cartel
I got a bitch that will kick you in the ass a little
I let the khakis hang low like a criminal
Prodeje said, "Yo Havikk, nigga, kick the real shit
In case a nigga try to ride on your dick"
They call me low-key cause I roam and I pump lead
And put the chrome to the dome of a nigga's head
And then the bodies start to calculate
On the corner I stand with the gees from upstate
The people don't know but I'm a loco
Hey yo, I been on the run for a year in South Central
The five-o's roll, they got my name and age ready, yo
I may be Jonathan, James or ( ? )
I get away, laugh and say fuck em all
Get the spraypaint and strike upon the people's wall
Deep in the Central it's hell, so when you stroll through
Watch your ass, muthafucka, or you die too
The sun don't shine in my city
Cause you get smoked, broked and choked, it's crazy, no joke
Cause I run game and I slang lley
And I pimp hoes and keepin dough with high-priced clothes
My moms didn't know how I was livin
Cause I told lies to keep the tears out her sad brown eyes
I kept a nine handy for a drive-by
In case I had to sing a punk fool a lullaby
Yo, another day, another dead-ass muthafucka
Caught slippin, now he's six feet under
Cause crime don't pay but crime is life, death and pain
So duck low when my nine goes bang
(Boom-boom-boom on your black ass)
(You want some of this?)
[VERSE 1: Prodeje]
Now when I stroll through the streets you wonder will you see me
I keep it low cause the girls wanna gee me
Had to be loc'ed cause I claim South Central
If I get mental I flow slow tempo
Nah punk, I can't get gaffled
Try to catch me on the streets and you might get gaffled
Prod got a Uzi, straight up, punk
Cold strap in the trunk if you pull a stunt
I get loc'ed and you get smoked cause it's like that
The Cartel's gonna get my back
Cause on the streets if the tone of your voice is weak you're beat
So run up and I'ma serve you heat
Puttin on brass knuckles to bust you in your cranium
You dislike my clique but can't change em
S.C.C., P-r-o-d
e the j to the e from the L.A.C.
Can get looney, run up duck and get bucked down
In South Central, fool, you gets clowned
[CHORUS]
[Professor X] (Brother, brother, brother, how you make em get down?)
(Brother, brother, brother, how you make em get down?)
[Cold 187um] (Streets of South Central)
(Brother, brother, brother, how you make em get down?)
[MC Breed] (Now I'm lookin dead at you)
[VERSE 2: Prodeje]
Fool, you get clowned, socked, beat like a sucker
[?] when they don't know of ya
Got a little money, so you claim hustler
Yeah, the streets made a pooh-put gangster
Bought you a six-fo', now you're rollin
Got a Cut and your Danes are golden
Call yourself evil, are you serious?
Man, the chronic's got you delirious
Your raw dog is a buster
If he saw you're gettin rat-packed he won't help ya
Now, check the 89 Hustlers
We're not a gang but we're down stay down for us
With a six-fo' Chevy, Uzi's and money
Homeboy, ain't a damn thing funny
You better walk it like you talk it
Cause if you can't back up your shit you gettin lynched
With your khakis low and locs, what you thinkin?
You could roll the hood without sinkin
Into a straight 211? Boy, you're buggin
The pavement's what you be huggin
[CHORUS: variations]
[ VERSE 3: Prodeje ]
Homebody's gettin lit and then they get they clown on
Makin noise at the park cause it's like home
Doin dips, shootin hoops, gettin drunk
Lookin out for a buster punk
The OG's stay down with the scene
The little locs ill cause the youngsters are mean
Rollin up strapped and they liable to gat ya
Go to [?] come right back at ya
What you gonna say when the 8's on your shoulder
Your money is gone cause they know you a roller
Come up short or get smoked like a clocker
Call one-time and get labelled a sucker
You got beef, then roll up like a soldier
Handle yours and go out much bolder
[?] and you can still be down
But run up weak on the streets and get clowned
[HAVIKK:]
4 deep on the creep, I gots the Tecs on prraahh..
Take the safety off lock, exterminate your block
Leavin do' holes with .44's and 20-gauge rifles and Tecs
And breakin' niggas' necks like bad checks
Outrageous with 12 gauges, 'L.A. Times' front pages
Leaving mingled bodies hangin' on stages
Collapse niggas with raps, caps niggas with straps
Smoking on the bomb, eyes tighter than Japs
Rollin' evil with the Desert Eagle, schemin' Young Prod
When the squad's in the house: oh my God, a homicide
Is 'bout to committed, admit it
You seen the Tec and you shitted
Nickel-plate in your face, a .38
Competin, strangle the evil with low blows
I dips fo' low with bad hoes, the saga unfolds
The S.C. script had to design shit to wreck your mental
Bitch, and plant a fuckin' slug in your temple
Yeah
[Chorus: L.V. & PRODEJE]
The West Coast Gangstas still O.G.'s
Sportin' khakis and Chucks and B.V.T's.
Swervin through your hood in a blue low-low
Sportin' Carhartt jeans with a chrome 4-4
[PRODEJE:]
G maneouvres, increasin my retaliation
Shob niggas provoke could equal to your devastation
My motivation is lyrication, the philosophation
Acquired by the gangsta's inspiration
Mentally loc'd I'm smokin' tracks like it's blunted
I'm frontin' 'bout .44 mags and G rags
My khakis, t-shirt and Chucks stun ya
I zap you like a genie
You try to escape like Whodini
You plastic
I'm boombastic like that muthafucka Shaggy
The Cartel keeps the groove nasty
You tried to fade, but got eleminated, tried the differential
But couldn't fade the fuckin' instrumental
My mental compound exploitin' the hoods and towns
Breakin' it down, and if you trippin', yo' ass is clowned
It's Mr. Prod comin' cutthroat, live through the wire
The West Coast G's is on fire
[Chorus...]
[??? & YOUNG PROD:]
Freestylin' to a instrumental in a rental
Q-fo'-fever, evil side finna leave a
Nigga leakin, blood seekin' for the weekend
Headhuntin like a dome-servin' freak and
Mental scheme we G's this, we locs like that
We grab Macs and reacts to open niggas' backs
Welcome to the dome of terror, the era of the evil side
Take niggas out the run like drive-by's
Come come, test this, let's just
See yo' face taste [???] just this
No mistakin, [???] we're money-makin'
We grab the g's, get the ki's and we shake it
It ain't too easy to find me
Young Prod run games like _Jumanji_
My 9 blow minds everytime I dump
Takin' niggas' chests out and lump
Evil Side, servin' muthafuckas from the back to the front
Don't front, so where ya at?
In the back of the homie's 'Lac
Cockin' a strap, finna take a muthafucka off the mat
I got your back - back at ya, nigga
Pull the triggers, slugs to niggas' mugs
Forever Evil Side, straight gangsta
[Young Prod]
What's up
Cartel representin for all the real niggas that represent from both coasts
East and west, nigga, like that
To all you bitch-ass niggas dissin this gangsta shit
Fuck y'all, no love
What's up, Treach, Kay Gee, Vin-Rock
Youknowmsayin, puttin it down
Ill and Al Skratch
All the west coast homies
Knowmsayin?
Let's rock
[Young Prod]
I felt the slaughter and thought I oughta rip off niggas' faces
Interphase my razorblades, cause this is gangsta
Collapse perhaps when a strap split you between your eyes
40mm infrared beams, homicides
.45's, .44 Desert Eagles to the skies
Tec-9s, Mac-10s, the biggest to the smallest size
And I ride these ghetto streets when I'm high
L.A.C., S.C.C. d.o.g. and that's right
I put that on my mama, I hears the drama from the bitch coast
Killer, better feel a realer nigga from the west coast
Now just suppose you was on the west coast
And you got caught up in the drama with the baby locs
You say it ain't real, but now you're feelin like a hoe
Cause a nigga 13 done knocked yo ass to the flo'
[ Rhimeson ]
Now nigga, what's happenin, it's the cavi and the gee that c-ride
My chest full of that doja, finna slug, hittin the thai
The Hen got a nigga brain cells on nutty
Come with a Tec, roll in a bucket, broke as fuck, yellin "Fuck it!"
I'm hittin niggas up as I swerve down your block
Yellin "Cartel", yo westside rider, it don't stop
Put a slug in a nigga's ass like a c
Knock him off like a d, beatin his ass like a tree
Rhimeson regulatin more blocks than Fort Knox
I'm the baddest batter parlayin clippin up yo blocks
Drop-top storin glocks, and if the battery's hot, it's on
Brigades that ice-skates and put marks in funeral homes
The g shit won't quit, loc, as we dip through
Loadin clips, fool, for your whole crew, yellin "Fuck you!"
Gangstas, teams leavin hoes and toes frozen
Tags in teams rollin and casket doors closin
[CHORUS]
[Young Prod]
West coast niggas don't give a fuck
So when you hear that milimeter bust, it be us
Peepin how you're dissin, sayin our missions ain't real
But when the Cartel's through, you bitch-ass niggas we gon' still...
(Eastside niggas, Westside niggas)
Now we finna show you how the west coast rocks
(Westside niggas, Eastside niggas)
Now we finna show you how the west coast rocks
[Prode'je]
Like Cube I'ma show you how the west coast rocks
Put the clips in the glocks and let em go pop-pop
Eastsider, S.C.G.'s, the representers of the gory
Keep talkin that shit, you catch a flurry
I bury muthafuckas, they call me Buckus, not Fuckus
But I'm quick to put a rush on all you bustas
Enough is enough is, now who's the fuckin roughest
The toughest, and in the end, who's gonna need the crutches?
I said it once before, and I respect the realer niggas
The realer niggas pullin killer-triggas on the iggas
It figures, cause who's the bigger niggas when it's payday?
We parlay and give the props to niggas and what they say
It's okay, cause gangstas movin deeper to the masses
Others kissin asses, we comin with the blastes
We smashes, and kickin at your asses like some stress is
The gangstas puttin it down for the pound where the west is
[Young Prod]
When I'm in a low-low rollin slow mo' to the east
I be a thief like Coolio and roll with 40 Thevz
Gees in the backseat, clippin up the heat
I'm leanin out the window, dumpin niggas yellin "Peace!"
Release hollow-points, splittin between your joints
Shots explode, eyes close, niggas get my point
West coast niggas don't give a fuck
So when you hear that milimeter bust, it be us
Peepin how you're dissin, sayin our missions ain't real
But when the Cartel's through, you bitch-ass niggas we gon' still...
(Eastside niggas, Westside niggas)
Now we finna show you how the west coast rocks
(Westside niggas, Eastside niggas)
Now we finna show you how the west coast rocks
Now I came through the do', I said it befo'
It's all about that west coast flow and the .44
So get a grip, niggas dissin best to listen
Fuck all you hooks, and I ain't talkin about fishin
Got this mission that I'm completin, and niggas that I'm deletin
And I'm heatin up your block with the Tec and the infrared glock
Servin niggas with Mac-10 triggers
The bigger the nigga size, the bigger the hole he lies in
Cause that's the lifestyle I'm livin, so I express it in my raps
For snaps and collapse fools with the straps
Perhaps the west coast is too hardcore
Kickin down your front do' with the infrared .44
Like [name], but on a mission for props
Everybody hit the flo', no beef no mo'
Nigga, don't expect for us to let that shit ride on this side
Yeah, you're safe at home, but over here you best to hide
I'm capable of servin niggas problems with my heater
I'm down to put the strap down to let my fist met ya
Niggas don't want no problems now, nigga, you will get broke down
Nigga, you find yourself dead on the ??? bound
Cause I get so hot, niggas, you cannot stop me
West coast comin hard, so your ass best to copy
Sloppy-ass marks, y'all don't wanna see me
I throw heat on your ass and bust a cap, cause it's easy
Keep it real
[VERSE 1]
South Central
The home of true gangstas
Down for all when I proachin by a stranger
we chill although my girl gets mad at me
She has to understand S.C.C. is family
She's cuss and [?????] and is tryin to break the Havikk's heart
But understand girl you knew it from the jump start
I ran the streets keepin suckers off my homie back
Makin records and tryin to avoid gettin jacked
S.C.C. yeah it's a love thang
I don't slang but youre thinkin that I gang bamg
Cause I wear khakis locsters never say I love ya
And mean it in a strong way
Girls on my jock you say I got it goin on
And South Central the place that I call home
The telephone rings but its you that I'm thinkin of
I know its hard to deal with but its gangsta love
[CHORUS]
Yeah.. you gotta deal wid dis
lalalalalalalalalalala
wid dis gangsta love
lalalooooooove me
you gotta deal wid dis
lalalalalalalalalalala
wid dis gangsta love
lalalooooooove me
You gotta deal wid dis
lalalalalalalalalalala
wid dis gangsta love
lalaloooooove me
You gotta deal wid dis
lalalalalalalalalalala
wid dis gangsta love
lalaloooooove me
[VERSE 2]
Girl you complain that I'm quiet on the telephone
And that I'm rollin with the homies while your all alone
I disagree because I call you when I'm coolin out
I understand you feel up sad but baby check it out
Me and my homies have to make it on the city streets
With all the bangin and the slangin we depend on beats
And dope rhymes that keep us out the ????? line
You're so kind and I'm happy that youre all mine
But it's a fact, my homies always get my back
And like that, I'll never end up gettin jacked
we have time together when we using well
we go to dinner to movies then we get a tell
You understood from the start
I couldn't change overnight but I have a heart
So whassup, you're startin to push
but don't shove girl
You gotta deal wid dis gangsta love
[CHORUS]
Yeah you might think I'm out chasin women
But I'm wastin time in the streets wit my homies
But if you didn't already know baby
i´m dedicated to the S.C.C.
And whatever it takes to get us over this first priority
right know yeah i see that look in your eyes
but don't get me wrong
I do feel deep and adore you
And this gangsta love could be your love
If you hang in there
Yeah! South Central Cartel is back in dis mutha......
And we 'bout 2 do it like dis.... L.V. ohhhhhhh uhhhhhhhh........
Baby hold on another slow song is comin' swift
The street life of a true „g" you get me drift
Khaki suits, locs, chokes the grokest sacs
Got your drug cause you sprung on the gangsta mac
Lalalalalala your baby skip the chacha
Oh! Call me a hoe with a low flow
Hmm you couldn't deal with the real so you step quick
Bad Ass the bytch causing treat with on the Havik's dick
Gangsta luv said yo and you said oh no the life of a „g" was a nono
City 2 city u say u miss me
but you got mad see
Packin' your shit try to leave me
but so long cause Imma go on
Yeah l.u.v. is not me cause I'm 2 strong
to be a sit with choke on a bytch list yeah
And I know girl u couldn't deal wit dis
[Chorus:] U couldn't deal wit dis [x3]
Girl u better let it go
Look girl you used to cry about the way I have to handle thangs
but in the streets it's do or die among the central gangs
Me and my homies made a record and we make some noise
The gangsta luv is try to shell was broke me cut the voice
Grown in the city like we used to nothing had to change
but you were trippin' about all the other brutal games
Yeah I can pick cha and I can hold you I can start to shit
and fill (feel) with serious so probably get the pistol quick
But all the day it's kinda we can gets the criminal
and on the tel it's kinda we compare the sickle strolls
The gangsta luv is playin' out
I tried to work it out but all you like to do was shout
but Prode'je's a business if you want it you'd invest
You could have made it over but you seem to make a mess
Yeah I used to grindin' with the chicks
but now it's with the fist bytch
U couldn't deal with dis
[Chorus:] U couldn't deal wit dis [x3]
Girl you better let it go
Love is not my thang
You Know I'm a gangsta man
You keep callin' me a hoe
but girl you just don't know
It was u who pushed me away
and your bytchass just can't stave
Cause a true ass g" don't joke
So I'm walkin' out tha door
U couldn't deal wit dis [x4]
[HAVIKK]
Lookin through a window, thinkin' of a mission
Hear gunshots, another homeboy missin
The streets, crazy as hell but what a brother know?
A drive-by in a black 6-4
Who did it and why? Another gang cause they hate him
The person they killed, he wasn't even gangbangin
Comin' from school, mindin his own alone
But it's the homeboy's brother, so I guess it's on
16 - dead, missin' half his face
His family screams and he dream of a better place
You're either down or out
I'ma stay down and talk loud
Put on my khakis and still walk proud
It's either do do or die or get done for nuthin'
I won't run from a gun, nigga, shoot me some
I'ma die a ?full? death, it's ignorant still
But it's ill cause sometimes people have to kill
You put your flags on, Locs on, claims the ????
And get your jack on, sometimes you get blown away
You wanna live in fear but it's tragic
An innocent child in another closed casket
[L.V.]
I'm thinkin' about my brother
Been thinkin' about my future
I got to get off the streets and work it out
And face reality...
[HAVIKK]
A closed casket because he didn't have no face
Lost in space and his brother has the only trace
Say, brethren, is you simply get a Uzi and blast?
Are you sure to get away, or does it matter to ask?
[PRODEJE]
I know you feel kinda guilty cause they thought he was you
And everybody in the hood makes you wanna pursuit
The others brothers from the gang that you shot at first
And now you roll in limousines and your brother a hearse
[HAVIKK]
I couldn't doubt if it was me, I wouldn't wanna do a murder
[PRODEJE]
Yeah, I might slip just a lil' bit further
[HAVIKK]
We livin' in a ghetto and the ghetto is a kettle
Sittin' on the furnace and it won't let go
[PRODEJE]
You feel guilty so you shoot back and you hit black
And they hit back, another black's ??????
[HAVIKK]
Another mother in tears, another kid in the grave
[PRODEJE]
The Lord gave us the freedom but till death we're enslaved
[L.V.]
I'm thinkin' about my brother
And thinkin' about my future
I got to get off the streets and work it out
And face reality
Cause I know one day I will see a vision
Of the other side, oh no no...
[PRODEJE]
And what a mother, because you wanna gee, she face danger
Shootin' at the house and she just a stranger to a banger
The brother of the brother you shot
Now your brother was got, your boy, you're ready to pop
At the park you look gee'd, mad, even notorious
You carry your rag, your reputation, it embroils
Yeah, you can murder and you won't be phased
But when the death hits home to the death you a slave
Boy, your grave will take a Uzi and retaliate
Are you afraid of the fact that it might be bait?
Because I heard a lil' rumour on the L.A. streets
That tell the price on your head, can you face the G?
Your homeboys might help, but maybe they won't
Maybe they can use dollars, are you gettin the point?
Cause it's straight game and death's no joke
You better get out of the fire or you smell the smoke
It's no jokin', I became a G because I had to
(So the streets took control of you)
I'm a gangsta, a gangsta on a new L.P.
A closed casket, a mother and the S.C.C.
90-Motherfuckin-4, nigga
South Central Cartel
Comin at cho ass like this, bitch
90-motherfuckin 4 nigga
Another motherfucker floatin in a fuckin river
I'm creepin on that ass with the glock on yo block
Leavin your brains marinatin', 9 slugs killin off Satan
Die nigga nigga, die nigga nigga die bitch
Another skull gettin crushed by a lunatic
I'm blowin motherfuckers domes till the year 2000, oh
187 on your ass hoe
Motherfuckers keep slippin
The slugs keep rippin through that ass when I'm trippin
My mind's all fucked, and I'm evil as a God damn nut on cocaine
Khaki's hangin low, kickin G slang
So bring it on, and I'mma screw ya like a hot hoe
6 feet stiff as fuck for the 9-4
Havikk's got your ass in the scope G
Another killin' by the killa from the SC
[CHORUS]
Stay out my hood motherfucker cause you ain't shit
I'm buckin em down with the 9 mill glock bitch
Stay out my hood motherfucker cause you ain't shit
I'm buckin em down with the 9 mill glock bitch
A nigga gettin wrecked from the S.C. rollin with the Cartel
And ass holes gettin ripped as the G's bail
Goin off like a light switch
Fuck a bitch, its your money or your motherfuckin ass kicked
Gettin rough on a G.O.
One time's tryin to slang young niggaz like a kilo
But its on for the whoo ride
And the motherfucker slippin is the motherfucker frizznied
A lil knucklehead, niggaz gettin ready G
My kinda positives to you is negativity
But now the prod is even odder so I couldn't give a mad fuck
I'll leave your ass in tha bag bucked
Its hard times on the back streets
Graveyard's one hop and a skip for an O.G.
And if I'm goin out someone's goin wit me
I know that many motherfuckers down with P
Its gonna buck in the process
Motherfuckers gettin clowned in my hood with the ruthless
I give a fuck cause I'm sick, I'm the fuckin grim reapor
Comin through your hood with a street sweeper
[CHORUS]
Knee deep in yo ass fool
That backstreet graveyard shit ain't gone never stop
South Central Cartel, motherfuckers for the 90 motherfuckin fizzno
Mindless a motherfuckers spineless, and brain dead
I'm cockin a glock, I'm leavin your blood in your mom's bed
A psycho nigga with the trigger finger itchin for
Another pull another hearse, another funeral
Mom's story had to be a G from the old school
And very stupid motherfuckers tryin to be cool
Put a nigga in his grave
Wrap him up and ship him, over fuckin seas, 86ing
You want chuckie motherfuckies can you dodge it?
SC to the C fina ride bitch
OG's whoo ridin little locs causin ruckus
If ya niggaz try ta buck us
I figure to clown you motherfuckers cause its simple
Drop his monkey ass like a 4 up in the central
Niggaz still chillin up at the park pumpin steel
Shootin hoops, crack, yeah the whole fuckin deal
Only regulatin no petitious niggaz needed
And if you talkin shit, motherfucker you deleted
You gotta be a G if you're rollin with the real
And homies watch yo ass for the motherfuckin kill
Niggaz gettin clowned yeah fuckin with the ruthless
Niggaz just heartless, straight up menace
Runnin with the glock down your motherfuckin block
Pop pop pop now a motherfuckers dropped, bitch
[Havoc]
It's a motherfuckin shame.
Everytime I look at the goddamn news, or read a motherfuckin
paper, some motherfuckin bitch or nigga tryin to dis gangsta rap.
But um, check this shit out.
Gangsta rap is here to motherfuckin stay.
All you hoes and bitches out there tryin to put a bag on this
shit, this shit is here to motherfuckin stay.
[Havoc]
Bailin up outta the cut, I'm breakin em off for this 95 G thang
Jumpin up outta that Mustang, gonna let these nuts hang
Cannibalistic flow snatchin your neck off
Grabin a fuckin tech, lettin this bit takin your chest off
Morgify a nigga with the quickness, pissin on brain sites
Magnify your heart with this beam, and stomp it like a street light
We blow motherfuckas, kickin up dust, droppin that bomb shit
Glock cocked on your block, ready to rock it all time
Bitch I sack, SCC be that click, Treach and Hav
Felony, Prod, H-A-V the OC, you can't see me
Pump pump that Havoc'll have it crazy motherfucka
Bewitched and brain dead, leavin you headless motherfucka
[Jayo Felony]
The original from the block, ready to pop and drop
Glock on cock, Felony's the locest as I focus like a mug shot
Hot like rocks, nah fuck that, like boilin lava
I'm wicked, sit back and kick it, as I saliva
How I took in your eyeball, I call all shots for the GNC
Nigga close your eyes cuz you ain't seeing me
Five eight, seven fifteen, Bullet Loco still
Pissin in a cup, and I'm not givin a fuck
It's on, fuck Oliver Stone, he made Colors
Gettin paid off gangbangin, I want my money motherfucka
I'm a bump ya, pluck ya like a chicken and cut your head off
Housin with a hundred thousand, ready to let em
Go to the pen, or make ends, that was my option
Now R-A-P gon put me up like adoption
I'm shoppin for brains and thangs, so marks jet
I'm addictive, like double nicotine in cigaretes
Let's take this demon to the head loc, you scared loc?
I met my fuckin last smoke, leavin these bustas dead broke
Pass me the rap on the track and Bullet Loc gon come sick
Cuz at the end of the world there's gon be gangstas
Cockroaches, and sherm sticks
[Prodeje]
Yeah, headbangas in the house yo.
You playa hatas can't stop this gangsta shit.
You know what I'm sayin? Haha
[Hook1:]
Step up, step off punk ass niggas
I flow real soft, soft as medicated cotton
Cuz I put my foot up your ass before you pass gas
Or even before you're thikin bout farting
[Hook2: x2]
So what you saying? So what you saying?
I'm lettin my gat bust
You bustas and you marks know I just don't trust
[Prodeje]
Back on that flow, don't you know
It's that Prod from that sqaud
Kickin up in that dust as I bust as I mob
Metamorphisize from that BG to OG
All I see is G's but you bustas can't see me
Smokin motherfuckas so they bodies are cold
I'm kickin up on your ass till you crumble and fold
I'm on the creeps on them vouges
Droppin 6 to them 4's
Makin records, going gold
That's my story in Vouge
Still try to break me but you're broke
As I spoke, loc
Suckas hate the gunsmoke
Act I peel your cap like a cantaloupe
You think it's settled when we knuckle up
I got insane like Saddam
And wreck your posse with my finger fuck
[Young Prod?]
Five four three two um
Here it comes, one more time
Pistol whip dump when I'm packin up mine
Y'all don't wanna do nothin, I'ma keep on bustin
G's need to ease on back, or catch a cap in they knapsack
I sprayed your ass with a gauge and leave you dazed for days
So why must you drive my G flow
I swallow your ass up like Cujo
And I got em, hollow point for the gaffle
Seventeen [?] in your ass like a raffle
So respect me, the Young P-R-O-D
I be that nigga that kill you for nineteen ninety G
[MC Eiht]
I takes two to your jaw motherfucka you slip
I take two more and watch the swelling of your fat lip
Nigga, how'd you figga like a bitch I let you get away
Westside, CPT G's that don't play
I throws that CPT up, blaze up the blunt
Then I steps back and sits down my fuckin cup
My nigga Bird got my back when we square off
Toe to toe, don't ya know surprise here comes the left blow
You get the steel toed boot, to your chin
You can't win, oops it splits out your front tooth
Now you squirm like a worm in the dirt
You get hurt motherfucker cuz we puts in much work
You look up to see the barrel of my fuckin strap, playa
Eiht Hype best to get ready for a long night
I hit your block cuz I don't care
Let the glock go tick tock and I hit you what with, geah
[Hook2 x2]
[Treach]
I heard niggas had beef with SCC
And he was headed for the airport
Landed ass branded way up north
From Ill Town Eiht called me, said leaving with tech nine releases
Torches porched and piss out the pieces
Nigga wasn't witty nor fuckin worthy
Cuz he had beef with Ant Banks, Boss, Spice 1, they tried to
hide in Jersey
That was the wrong fuckin move, the wrong alley
To think the Murder Squad only had connections in Cali
Yes, with the murder, I said it flex
West coast to east coast quicker than Federal Express
Cuz we strike and we don't lack for the wack
The T to the R to the E to the A to the C to the H is back!
[Sh'Killa]
Break yoself, it's Sh'Killa, make way while I spray
Murder Squad spit out claim, my hood is the bay
Nine glock glock, ready to pop or stop
While those who rank high in might ride on top
Retaliation a must when I bust or blast
Retaliation and blank gun in hand with my mask
Can't stop me I'm sick and I gives a fuck
See a nigga slippin, aim my shit then I bust
Break yoself, once again it's on
I'm takin all, pump pump, drop gun, head up, hut one
Murder Squad, gangsta made beat be the shit
Murder Squad, gangstas for life and we sick
[Spice 1]
Niggas playa hate ya but I'm Naughty by Nature
Eiht ya got these niggas on the run, so let's go get the guns
Takin they shit, gankin they riches, [?] so a nigga can't sew
up your spot
I'm leavin your shit up in stitches, gotta decapitate motherfuckas
Can't see me like Ray Charles
Kill em all, stick an ice pick in your shit and have ya HAAA!
Stabbin up shit like OJ, shoot em up with the motherfuckin AK
It's that nigga from the east bay
Killin off shit when the gat spray
Motherfuckin hustler, fuck a busta
High billers we makin a nigga fry
Let's all die, murder up some niggas call "Can I?"
With the infrared up on the nutsac, man blouw blouw!
With the infrared up on them throats, man go blouw blouw!
[Hook1]
[Havoc]
Yo, this Havoc the Mouthpiece from the S.C.C.
I only got three words to say:
South - Central - Madness
[Prode'je]
Hoo-ridin in the Central, yeah, the gangsters mob for life
The Cartel's gonna roll the dice
One time for the mind of the niggas strollin deep
Watch your back, I'm about to creep
It's not Compton, it's South Central like a bitch
Another gee with a gaffled gangster pitch
If your game is weak, you speak straight punk
If funk jump you're soft and try to punk
Cause I'ma hit you in the face with it
I got a posse of crews to serve blues if you fuck with it
Yo, the Prode'je spoke and choke and choke
Who croak when the guns smoke, ?broke, you're half-loc'ed?
But I'ma break it down for those who know
Be real when you claim South Central
Cause on the Central tip you get pistol-whipped
And if the pistol slip, you get Uzi-clipped
211's in progress
Here comes the 187 if a sucker tries to fess
Kaos, Gripp, the ringleader is rip shit
And when I'm grippin the mic or when I flip shit
[Havikk]
It's not Compton, what's up punk, it's South Central
A crime wave of gangster-made criminals
Liftin a skit to your dome, I'm relentless, shit
Cock the nine and laugh when I blast this shit
Cause your ass got tossed
By the mafia king, you were hung by the boss
Havikk, my felonous pitch will lynch a bitch
Smoke and choke any punk on a off-stroke
Cause I provide the funk and it's homicide
Suckers collide with my drum and get hung
Gaffle, swarm and alarm and drop a storm of death
Eat your brain and watch your ass melt
In the Central I roam, I'm close to home
The dangerzone, muthafucka, get your head flown
By a loc, I'ma smoke, I'm no joke
Drop the floor on a noose and watch your ass choke
Feel the lyrics that blow, how it detonate
Hide your dome, the Cartel will penetrate
Your damn cranium, punk, who's the baddest?
You can't escape the South Central Madness
[Havoc]
Yo, this is the hype of all hypes
Hype-up track for '92
For South Central
Cold droppin gangsta
[uncredited guest rapper #1]
Yo, I got a gat, I'm tryin to deal with the Madness
Mexican gangsta, born with a badness
So I drink forties like a wino
And let me get it straight, don't give a fuck about a five-o
Cause I live on the edge like every nigga
A nine for a nine, get fly with a trigger
And man, I gat, so I guess I'm a rider
Bitches know I'm paid, so I guess that's why they strive for
I sling like the Cartel bang
Scorpio is ???? but you ain't gonna hang
My AK is fully automatic
If you wanna live, chump, then don't get dramatic
Cause the jail's got a goddamn mafia
Wanna scrap, punk? Ace'll be droppin ya
When we're done you're gonna be feelin blue
Sleepin on the floor like a muthafuckin ????
Just because you thought you that crazy
Try to rush hard but your shit couldn't phase me
Cause I'm more than a brother that's mental
I'm the one Mexican that roam South Central
[uncredited guest rapper #2]
A city with so much credential
Livin in Central is strictly all mental
Coincidental, let me tell you what I'm into
Gamin on the niggas who think they can step to
A pretty seditty lady from the city
Looks are deceiving but my attitude is shitty
And don't try to step to me quick
Cause a 9mm in your mouth I will stick
And make you lookin like a popsicle
Hear the blast, and I see your blood trickle
Yeah, exactly what I figured
A bitch-made nigga that's scared to pull the trigger
On a lady that's got you feelin smaller
Shorter than short, I'm the lady shot caller
The boss that 24 is dissin
Any muthafucka who think they can fade this
S.C.C. is comin out slayin
It's not a gang when no Uzi is sprayin
A lady that's pullin all the cards
I smoke ya and leave ya dead with your dick on hard
[uncredited guest rapper #3]
Malibu beaches and everyday sunshine
Bullshit - my city's full of one-time
Rollin on a hunt for they favorite toy
Any gangsta nigga wearin khakis and Curduroys
House shoes or a pair of Nikeys
And you talkin 'bout you wanna come and sight-see?
Fool, you better stay where you're at and keep your health
Cause where I'm from every nigga's for hisself
Or his set with the vest and a Tec
So if you've never been here, then channel 7 is your best bet
Me, I was raised in Watts after the riots
So I was taught: see the head, fly it
And one-time, I know they name and they faces
Because I see em on a everyday basis
Niggas claim hard cause of a warrant or a bounty
Others try to claim L.A. from Orange County
But ain't even close to claim hard knocks
That's why they dyin of a overdose of buckshots
I can't take it, my mic, somebody grab this
And keep flowin to the South Central Madness
[Havoc]
For all you muthafuckas out there don't know how we livin in South Central
Fuck y'all!
(Shit, goddamn
Get off yo ass and jam!) [x2]
[uncredited guest rapper #4]
Westside, hoo-ride, let me kick a pimpin slide
Weak niggas straight trip when I ride
Young Westworld trippin on another flow
And yeah nigga, I still got my .44
In the front seat tryin to fuck with me?
And get sprayed, fool, this the S.C.
In the house, puttin niggas' heads out
Workin em out, trippin em out without a doubt
And still stuffin big dick in your hoe mouth
Westworld kick a grip on a flow
And yo, right after this I get to fuck yo hoe
Young nigga, don't sweat that
Cause if you do, Andy Mac get the muthafuckin AK strapped
On your back with a goddamn slug in your head
Now you know the O.G. meaning of 'dead'
And right after I proved the point
Kick back and smoke a fat joint
Of green funky Indo
Then kick back and let a fine hoe
Suck my dick, bitch trick, when I say so
[HAVOC:]
199-muthafuckin'4: South Central Cartel is back in the house
Prodeje, Havikk the Rhyme Son and the Mouthpiece
And we straight servin your ass heat
[PRODEJE:]
Muthafuckas gettin clowned like I said in the 9-1
But 94 is in effect if you want some
Funk fo' yo' trunk, bring it on if it's on then it's poppin
And only for the real car droppin
G shit, nigga through the hood's in the S-C
P da R da O da D da E da J da [??????]
Comin [????] I don't think so, niggas gotta float style
This lil' nigga still loco
8-9's where the hustlers dwell
You wanna know where I'm from: S-C Cartel
TO the Crips and the Bloods, I'm a homie
Many niggas talk shit
And get banked with the O-E
Regulatin off petitions, calling on the D-L
That's where the real O.G.'s bail
Down low in a short Coupe
Knock knock for the hoes in the hood tryin to be suited
It's all good when I'm creepin
Back street lights on and muthafuckas done slipping
I know my city so I'm rollin, niggas tried to swang with this
But South Central's kinda dangerous
[Chorus...]
S-C nigga kickin gangsta shit
Cartel gonna get my back
S-C nigga kickin gangsta shit, fool
Run up and I'ma serve you heat
[HAVIKK:]
Breakin muthafuckas off, nigga for the hoo-ride
A true G from the C finna G-slide
Strapped cause it's on if them niggas runnin up play the back in
Cause I'ma clown with my Mac-10
Big G's in the hood stay down for a nigga
Hoes ride dicks cause we got bigger
90 muthafuckin 2 street
S-C Cartel bailin through the mist servin much hell
Niggas fronted on a nigga in the 93
The little loc's bustin caps for the bigger G
Peelin niggas cap quick
I let the khakis hang get ripped for the niggas wanna set trip
Surely loc's with the Locs
Glock in my drawers fuckin with the old folks
Knuckle headed nigga in the hood gettin ???? off the E.T. and O.E
Layin in the cut for the police
H-A to the V-I double muthafuckin K
Creepin on yo' ass with an AK
At the park shootin' hoops
And finna get my strap on
Smokin niggas cause I'm jail pro
[Chorus...]
[PRODEJE:]
I'm from a hood where the real niggas come-up
Some gang bang, some slang but I'm dealin in the rap game
You try to figure who I run with
The S-C to the muthafuckin C, that's all bitch
And in the end I'ma maintain
Muthafuckas hittin deep try to main but I'm insane
So I wouldn't trip nigga cause I got a clip
For the 9, hanging on my muthafuckin hip
You need to kick it in the city with me
And Rhyme Son's peeling caps on the suckers actin shitty with me
And muthafuckas still flossin, still tryin to O.G.
On the slap smokin E.T.
[HAVIKK:]
Hangin on the muthafuckin deuce
I saw my cousin Prod hit the floor with a muthafuckin' small Coupe
Mouthpiece got the Tec for yo' ass and it's over
And En Vogue couldn't hold ya
Niggas yellin I'ma a 8-7 gangsta
Thin what you want, I keep one in the chamber
A real Cartel nigga
Finger on the trigger if you step I'ma put yo' ass in the river
Shootin dice in the hood buckin niggas for their last end
In a mood to get my blastin
Hittin dips cause I'm down with the Crips and THE Bloods G
And muthafuckas can't fade me
[VERSE 1: Prodeje]
Cold in the city, I stroll like a damn fool
Smokin your ass on the strip, you're not cool
You beat up my homie but didn't kill him, you wish you did
Cause this murder rap will leave you dead and rid
Of indecision, I got to Uzi to buck it off of a clocker
Called up Havoc, he said, "Let's roll on the muthafucka"
Put up the four, four niggas with hot heads
Gee got the AK and loaded the shit dead
It's fucked for the nigga but he didn't know
Yo, the Mouthpiece got up and aimed and he ducked low
Fool, you wanna dance with the devil?
So I'm sendin you home, you better get you a shovel
Havikk hit the corner, Luva Gee got the AK
We spotted the gang and then we started to spray
A nigga spotted the move and said, "Duck!"
The dumb fuck is dead
I shot him in his goddamn head
[CHORUS]
(Open fire like a lunatic from Vietnam)
[Scarface] (Fuck that, say goodbye to the bad guy)
[Ice Cube] (Another nigga dead)
[VERSE 2: Havikk]
12 on the nose, I hit a corner with a tense pose
Shootin niggas, gettin blood on my damn clothes
A nigga slippin on the dark streets
I put they ass to sleep and leave they blood on the concrete
Yo, I'm from the hood shootin punks from the rooftop
Snipin your ass, I'm givin a fuck about a damn cop
Leavin notes on your window pane
As you step out your door I'm blowin out your brain
Fool, my alias Havikk, a damn gee from the dark side
A lyrical psycho who laughs in homicide
Cause through the night I creep, swarm and terrorize
Knock on your door and put a bullet between your eyes
Drag your body in a alley
As your corpse deteriorates like a damn cavity
My piece rolls to unload the reign of terror
Dead as fuck, hard as hell, then your brain fails
[CHORUS]
[Havoc]
Yo, this Havoc The Mouthpiece from the S.C.C.
That was only phase two of a muthafuckin massacre
So sit the fuck down because phase three is a muthafucka
[VERSE 3: Prodeje]
It was like the wild west in South Central
I jumped out the car and shot a fool in the window
The nemesis wrecks this in the premises
I mean business and you could be the goddamn witness
A nigga will die hard and kill up a few punks
The busters will scatter and I stepped on a dead hunk
Of flesh, open fire on a goddamn house
And three hoes butt-naked try to break out south
I shot a bitch in her ass, Rhimeson got her neck
Havoc got her in the head, now she shook for a sec
Cause they [?] and started to set-trip
Prodeje laughed, I said, "Give me a fresh clip"
I tell you muthafuckas who to fuck with
Niggas let out a pit, I had to blow him to shit
It was a mission, a vision of parallelism, we did em
And got ghost, but yo, who's next to play close?
Check it out
All don't G like we G
Evil side on the cut thang S.C.C.
Y'all don't G...
[HAVIKK]
4 deep on the creep, I gots the heat on -
We swervin' whip to set trip, regulate your block
Turn the 6-4's to low-low's, bangin' for the West Coast
What's next? Breakin fools necks like bad checks
Outrageous with 12 gauges, L.A. Times front pages
Leavin' mingled bodies hangin' on stages
Collapse fools with raps, peeelin' caps with straps
Twistin' off the bomb, my eyes are tighter than Japs
Rollin' evil with the evil side schemin', Young Prod
Clipp's the house, oh my God, a homicide!
Is about to be committed, admit it, we run thangs
Full Clipp from S.C., ready to ride and hoo-bang
Competin', strangle the evil with low blows
Low low's stay juiced on thick with hell of heat exposed
The S.C. script have a design to serve anydody
Yeah, West Coast is more feared than John Gotti
[Chorus...]
So what you gon' do when you see
Them West Coast G's mobbin' 4 and 5 deep
And flossin' whips
Shake it, shake it babe, West Coast Gangstas 5 deep
And that's killa...
[PRODEJE]
G manouvres, increasin' my retaliation
Real killers provoked could equal to your devastation
My motivation is lyrication, this philosophation
Acquired by the gangsta's inspiration
Ready to loc, I'm smokin' tracks like it's (blunted)
I'm frontin' 'bout .44 mags and G rags
My khakis, t-shirt and Chucks stun ya
I zap you like a genie
You try to escape like Whodini
You plastic
I'm boombastic like that mutha... Shaggy
The Cartel keeps the groove nasty
You tried to fade, but got eleminated, tried the differential
But couldn't fade the gangstas gettin' mental
Credential, compound exploding through hoods and towns
Breakin' it down, the G's is makin' the world go round
It's Mr. Prod comin' cutthroat, live like a wire
The West Coast G's is on fire
[Chorus...]
[??? & YOUNG PROD]
Freestylin' to a instrumental, in a rental
Q-fo'-fever, evil side finna leave ya
Whole hood leakin, blood seekin' for the weekend
Headhuntin like a dome-servin' freak and
Mental scheme we G's this, we locs like that
We grab Macs and reacts to open marks' backs
Welcome to the dome of terror, the era of the Evil Side
Lay fools out in rhymes like drive-by's
Come, come, test this, let's just
See yo' face taste ??? then just this
No mistakin, not fakin in the field, we're money-makin'
We grab the g's, get the ki's and we shake it
It ain't too easy to find me
Young Prod run games like Jumanji
My 9 blow minds everytime I dump
Takin' bastards' chests out and lump
Evil Side, serve a whole click from the back to the front
Don't front, so where ya at?
In the back of the homie's 'Lac
Cockin' a strap, finna take the funny style off the mat
I got your back - back at ya, gangsta
Pull the triggers, slugs to bastards' mugs
Forever Evil Side, straight bangers
[HAVOC:]
Oh man, where my keys at man?
I can't find my keys
We're havin a problem with these old bustas out in the Central
Oh, here they go
Let's roll
[YOUNG PROD:]
Bow to the wow yippie-yo into the yeain
I can swing my sack really though I ain't playin
It's Young Prod with the S.C.C.
Breakin 'em off like a G.E. from the S.C. flee
(We're on a mission this is how we do it
Grey 6-4 on gold D's we them bluest)
Partner been crossed slippin in the hood where it's good
All good for me cause I got him for a G
(It's that fool with the chrome .9 Beretta)
(9-3 jetter - I.O.U. letter)
I don't give a mother-mad (huh) like a 17 switches
Gettin riches and gettin rid of bitches
Prod what you hittin for
(Two Tec-9's a safe full of money and a life of hard times)
Trigga-happy-pappy yo it's me
So never fade the better from a young-ass G
Oh, here I come as I swing with the gangstas
Suckas step up and he slip when I bank ya
The homie don't try to fade
If you can't hang with a young-ass G
From the hood where the yay' slangs flee
Rollin down the block
Rollin non-stop
Rollin in my '64 and I keep it drop...
Mobbin' down the block with the Glock
Got the 16 shots for the crooked-ass cop
Gots to be a true G see me later as I creep
Mausberg pump (jump) I put that ass on sleep
So tippy-tippy-toe as I float through the hood in my 4
Job-top-D's punk please (oh no)
G slidin' down tha block with the Glock cocked
Feelin' bigger picture Rhimeson droppin non-stop
Hits for the streets as I groove like a G
Hollow point tips in the cut playin' low key
You got the (1-2-3) for the set
Bend that ass over I'ma stuff it with the jet
Yeah, I hang around like herpes and tricks wanna slurp me
The Glock 10 is puttin in work G
Havikk from the C be a G with this N-U-T's
Hangin strong like a tree
Fool, so flee from, it's a C thang a G thang
Chronic all day (AK) goin insane
Droppin punks in the mud make his blood die the rug
In the hood where it's good cause I gets love
[Chorus...]
[HAVOC:]
Yeah this is how the S.C.C. do they shit
In the '94
Yeah, 'In-Gatz-We-Trust-Style' on your ass
Murder Squad 4 life, fools
[PRODEJE:]
Break 'em off quicker with the trigger
Throw 'em in the river
Dip thru the hood while you figure
Why must I be like this
Is it cause I'm ruthless
Naw, gotta show 'em how I do this
Up in the mornin
Everybody sleep
While you countin sheep Prodeje is on the creep
Because I got the fever for the flavour
I got to get my wage to keep my car phone and my pager
I'm hittin' licks on the backstreets
Gotta get some gold thangs cause I wanna get fat freaks
Not the fat like a fat but the fat like a popper
That take ya to the 'tel for the popper
In the hood's where it's good
Let's make it understood I love the damned hood like my wood
G's hangin long like my family jewels
On the corners with the Ides mad-doggin the fools
Yeah, that gangsta rhyme has got me goin in circles
So you should be awakin like hearshal
It ain't nuthin goin on but the buck life bang
But in the hood's where the G's hang
[Chorus...]
L.V.
[L.V.]
Papa was a rolling stone
Wherever he laid his hat was his home
And when he died all he left us was alone
[Prode'je]
Pops was a roller, on the streets
He'd beat the young busters he used to meet
I mean scandalous, all I heard was in the contrary
Yo, that's why the Prod is no fairy
Papa was a hustler, so I wanted to sling
To live up to the name I claim
Mama cried, tryin to stop me in my ignorance
But I was grown, I didn't have sense
All I knew I was poor, black, broke and hungry
And the streets, they were callin me
So I stepped, ready and willing to be a G
To make it easy for my family and me
As for pops, I never got to see the man
But I heard he took matters in his own hand
In the streets he was up on it, well renowned
And if you put him down, yo, then go down
Hard, I won't take charts, I serve charts
Pimpin hoes and breakin hearts
On the for realer my nigga, yo, plain and simple
The man's back, but now he's uptempo
[L.V.]
I never had a chance to see him
Never heard nothin but bad things about him
Brother, I'm depending on you
To tell me the truth
[Havikk]
Pops was a roller, moms seems to tell me
Well respected by all, that's what I wanna be
Hardcore, in the streets I'd be a macker
Quick to smack a, yo, or even jack a
Soft-hearted brother, pops was a roller
Gamin a dub and now here comes his son
Street-smart, on the dice he was a straight G
On the dice my pops would get busy
Yeah, my pops was a true pimp
He kept a nine and a gangsta limp
Whoever owed him money got beat cause he ran the streets
Like a G and brought people mysery
I heard pops used to hang out
On the corner gettin drunk and beatin niggas' brains out
I got a name to uphold, so I hit the streets
Broke as hell to take what belongs to me
I saw money, moms said: "Yo, Havikk, please
Leave the streets", then I thought of clockin gees
Jack of all trades, like pops I ran the street scene
It's my turn to roll and live life a king
[L.V.]
I heard papa called himself a jack of all trades
Tell me is that what sent papa to an early grave
Folks said papa would beg, borrow or steal
To pay his bills
Papa was a rolling stone
Wherever he laid his hat was his home
And when he died all he left us was alone
[uncredited guest rapper]
Cold fakin, never ever on the home front
Beatin moms, yo, pop was a punk
Smokin lleyo and drinkin 8Ball
Thinkin small and tryin to be tall
I was a kid but still I can say this
Pop was tryin to game in a quiz
In the streets he got beat down
Wearin a frown he came home, playin moms like a weak sound
[??????] more fools that you're askin
Told the truth, G's you'd be faded
So you better chill, punk, or get smacked
Huh, smack me and I smack you back
[L.V.]
My brother
Folks said papa was never much on thinkin
Spendin most of his time chasin women and drinkin
Brother, I'm depending on you
To tell me the truth
Papa was a rolling stone
Wherever he laid his hat was his home
[VERSE 1: Young Prod]
If any crew wanna mad-dog, if you look it's on
I got this .44 chrome spittin at your dome
Comin from the shoulders, droppin muthafuckas like boulders
Rollin with my chip Motorola
Blazer all fucked but I ain't walkin
Head feelin light cause my stomach startin to talkin
As I roll by hoes yellin out: "Star!"
But I yell back: "Bitch, look at the car!"
You seen me in a video, don't think that I hustle
Stressin so bad, make me wanna jack Russell
I dropped outta high school askin where the money at
'Man, it's in the rap game' - now it ain't no get back
'Homie fuck that, where y'all from, loc, you bangin?
I thought the Cartel were some 87 gangsters'
Look homie, I'm a player and I ain't got time
Two steps back, buck you dead in your eye, eye, eye...
[CHORUS: Young Prod]
If you trip off your mouth and my strap's in my lap
It ain't no get-back, prepare for your casket
Nutshell Nazi, the S.C.C.
Persist to get pissed on, get yo buster ass on
[VERSE 2: Prode'je]
Should I bomb? Yo, let's commence to kill a
Pussy-ass niggas talkin bout they pullin triggers
We got the back streets sowed up
Live on luck will leave your ass fucked, nigga, hold up
You pickanannies be talkin plenty bullshit
But you ain't shit when it's time to get with
Real niggas from the S.C.
I peel your cap off
Nigga, now turn that muthafuckin rap off
5'8" with a big stick
Muthafuckas try to run but I'm comin at that ass quick
I'm so bad I kick my own ass
You disrespect me and I be gettin wreck just like a plane crash
Dash, I have your ass burnin like some hash
Ash, you see a mash, then you hear the blast
Ask the Prod what that be like
I tell you gangster, now you know it's all to the g right
[CHORUS]
[VERSE 3: Havikk the Rhime Son]
It's ninety-muthafuckin-six, gees finna ride and slide
Cartel Gang down to hoo-bang in a five
Niggas gettin twisted but I don't give a fuck about a buster
Cartel till I die, muthafucka
A nigga dressed thuggish, postin with the heater
Decapitate yo dome with this nine millimeter
'draulics on amp, the ass is on call
Hit the second switch, bitch, post my d's on the wall
Chuck T's posted on the curb
'yac in my palm and I'm chokin off that herb
I swerve back to the 9 block, pager goin wicked
Check my phone book for a bitch who wanna kick it
Diarrhea-at-the-mouth muthafuckas better ease up
S.C.G.'s regulatin fools g's up
Rhime Son, nigga, on deck puttin it down for the set, loc
Mobbin murder deep with my kinfolk
[Young Prod]
Yeah
Puttin it down like this, bitch
S.C.C. back at yo ass, nigga
Fuck everybody
That's real
[VERSE 1: Young Prod]
Rides, from my six-fo' to my Lex-o
Bumpin, what would you do if you knew, loc
How to put a lick down? Busta, you'se a amateur
You get scared when I glare, imagine if if I stare at ya
Then you would have to test yo Pro-Keds
Cause I done drew down and bust a cap at your forehead
So go 'head and jet, but let your big homie know
If he got static the automatics is ready-go
And what I bang I claim real to the gee
The Cartel's cavi, so can we calculate the C
As we be dumpin, locin as we slide on the d's
And we slip the clips to the B.G.
Young P puts it down and ain't nothing changin
I'm aimin heat at your dome cause it's gangsta
Bustas better raise up off the blocks when we ride
Cause glocks leave niggas shell-shocked and they die
[CHORUS]
O.G.'s get smoked
B.B.'s get loced
with straps
so perhaps
niggas get dealt with
If caps get peeled and niggas get served
with straps
so perhaps
niggas get dealt with
[VERSE 2: Havikk the Rhime Son]
I'm up early in the mornin, creasin my Karl Kani's, I'm saggin
I reach for my heat, yeah, that .44 magnum
It's time to regulate your block, you get twisted
I'm easin through your ass like a dick, now it's on, bitch
Welcome to the ill shit where niggas collapse in anger
Provokes the Rhime Son to release one out of the chamber
Crossin out our shit in the studio, foolio, you panic
And get your ass sunk like the Titanic
[?] up the cavi, proceedin to cause the ruckus
Meditate with the evil and the devil couldn't touch us
It's Prode'je and Rhime Son, Rhime Son and Prode'je
Extendin like a clip, hittin dips, no sense in tryin me
Ain't no love, focus on the realest
No future in your frontin cause you muthafuckas feel this
It's S.C.C. and Mouthpiece, so behold another coma
I'm in your fuckin lung like pneumonia
[CHORUS]
[VERSE 3: Prode'je]
Fuckin with the realer body-bag-filler-type of niggas
Killers that have you niggas chockin on your livers
S.C. could never play the back so the wack I confronted
Cocked the 12-guage and head-hunted
Had to be a flea cause you fuckin with that gee
Hav's got the S, Prod's got the C.C.
Gettin wreck, fools, you get dealth with
Like them niggas Mobb Deep said: you be 'shook' like a earthquake
Studio gees I refuse to see
When 87 times niggas was accused to g
Of bein foulish, but I'ma leave you swoll' like a callous
Cancelled like Dallas, knock yo ass off balance
I put my foot up in that ass, bro, you didn't know
That I can bust your shit like a pimple
And when it's over you be dead, gee
I got your number
And sucker-ass niggas goin under
[CHORUS]
[Prode'je]
That's right, muthafucka
Nineteen-muthafuckin-ninety-six
That S with them 2 C's is gettin wreck on that ass
Finna dig a foot off in yo muthafuckin ass, nigga
Punk muthafuckas thought we couldn't come back with that real shit
with that shoot-to-kill shit
Havikk the muthafuckin Rhime Son, Mouthpiece and Prode'je
finna break all you muthafuckas down
That's right
Finna break all you muthafuckas down
[uncredited singer]
Got me livin the life
Got me livin the life
That I don't want to
[L.A. Nash]
Never knew life could be so fucked up with no God to call
Labelled us ills, big boys developed the hearts to ball
It seems the dreams we saw got burst
Lit up the ammunition, won the war [????] bodies back to the Earth
They say from war comes peace
I say in the streets of L.A. let it begin on every corner and streets
In the belly of the beast is where me and my enemies meet
Inhalin teflon shells until the death of me
And to you devils plottin now know this
Haven't forgotten my tactics, so when you shoot, don't miss, bitch
I know it's a sin to be suicidal
But the way you niggas and bitches is trippin today is like 'fuck the Bible'
No hesitation like [?????], nigga, no breath
Can escape Nash or the angel of death
Lost in a world where we all feel pain
The Lord keeps callin my name, so I escape again
You never know when it's yo time to go
Heaven or hell, freedom or jail, even die slow
Got me livin the life
That I don't want to
[uncredited guest rapper]
I praise God for relief, this life is hell
I'm trapped between jail cells and hell, felonies lately to stack mail
These niggas wanna see me or do they wanna be me
If I get it raw I draw heat like McGraw, feel me
Mama, without a coma, this G thuggin
Got me feeling like I'm addicted to all the drama
Don't know when I'ma touch the other side but I'ma ride
For all my niggas that died and all the tears you cried
But first things first, riders clown in this fast life
Aggravated thoughts got my bound by my past times
Mama cried, we try, every day spend gettin high
Money, bitches and jewels until we die
Now watch em fly, like a bird will have you ballin or get you cracked
Scandalous homies'll turn they back and have your ass jacked
It's a fact, niggas stack to be the mack
When it's on it's on, I bring the chrome, now watch em moan
You never know when it's yo time to go
Heaven or hell, freedom or jail, even die slow
Got me livin the life
That I don't want to
[Young Prodeje]
The streets got a young nigga cold
The streets'll make a young nigga old
Sell your soul to get parole
It didn't take a man to hold the heat and blast him off his feet
Where evil lurk we put in work and represent the street
I hit my knees but it burn cause I done touched the other side
Where we hellbound in a small town and the weak can't survive
Where my 9 to 5 is snatchin souls, fuckin bitches, buyin gold
Tellin my little homies if it's the life they wanna go
My nigga Lucifer'll keep it true to ya, all he want is your soul
But you don't need that, it don't matter where you go
So I'ma ball while I'm here, roam this western hemisphere
Livin this life I don't wanna live but I ain't ready to leave here
[Prodeje]
I almost lost my soul to the .44
So many niggas ficticious and quick to getcha if you don't know
Gotta beat the heartless, in Cali the foulest niggas'll fade you
Better watch your shit cause it be crackin somethin major
All my life I done ducked so many damn slugs
I felt em rippin through the walls as I prayed to the Lord
Nobody falls, so many homies fell though
And you can count the blood stains but they all got a different story to tell though
You never know when it's yo time to go
Heaven or hell, freedom or jail, even die slow
Got me livin the life
[Prode'je]
South Central's back in this muthafucka for the big Nine-Three
Dedicatin this to all you little young niggas
[VERSE 1: Prode'je]
Used to be my little homie from the hood when I came up
Chillin with the gee's, slinging ki's, tryin to clock bucks
Be a role-model when the locs wear the nine strapped
Didn't even think about the fact you were bum-rapped
Livin in the S-C 12 tryin to figure it out
Should I go to school, learn the rules, or should I drop out?
Maybe I was blind, in a way I was ignorant
Little knucklehead from my hood was still innocent
Coulda said, "Loc, what I'm doin ain't the way for you
You should go to school, get a job and you'll make it through"
But I didn't do it, I was flippin tryin to be the one
Rollin in a 6-4 plushed on them things with bumps
Used to kick you down everyday, cause I had it, loc
Let you hit the bud' now and then, it was like a joke
You were goin down, then your mother tried to talk to me
But I was playin dumb and said I didn't even know you, gee
6 months later after doin 2 in county blues
Saw you at the park, khaki'd down, hanging with the fools
Smokin E.T., talkin about some drive-by
Lil knucklehead from my hood on a hoo-ride
A little knucklehead nigga
Just a knucklehead nigga from my hood, loc
Yeah a little nigga from my hood
Little niggas
Slow your roll, soldiers
Word up
[VERSE 2: Prode'je]
Now you're from the hood and you're running with the baby locs
Claimin rap-mob, slingin dope, and you're never broke
Got your own 9, and it's smokin every single night
Now I got the word from the streets, and it's nighty-night
Lil knucklehead from my hood on the downslide
Tryin to be the one, my nigga tryin to make it up high
Coulda told him this is nothing, coulda said him straight then
Now he's tryin to bang, and somebody's gonna smoke him
6 months later 13, and a menace now
Got a little juice as we chill with the pot crowd
Gettin fucked up off the E.T. and St. Ides
Tellin me that I'm the nigga that he used to idolize
Now you're like me ,little nigga
Better keep your finger on the trigger
Or it's 6 feet, little nigga
Cause on the slab it's a trip, and if you slip, you're a sleeper
But I'ma be my little brother's keeper
Put him in the spot, let him clock notch
Tryin to keep him safe from the 9s and the 12-gauge buckshots
But one day my nigga tripped
I caught him with a pipe in his mouth, and I flipped
Knucklehead nigga goin down in the hood, and it's bad for my business
So I had to just dismiss
Now he's back on the block
2 months later little loc got shot
2 in the dome by a fool that he jacked for a muthafuckin quarter
I guess times got harder
My little knucklehead nigga
Just a knucklehead nigga from my hood
What's up with all that shit, nigga?
Slow your roll
Yeah, yeah, yeah
From my hood
[HAVIKK]
South Central got the niggas with the fat shit
The 6-4's on D's, Cadillacs with the bumper kits
Fat sounds in the trunks for the hoes try to skeeze on
But a nigga still packs chrome
And muthafuckas wanna rock this
They come from city to city, then hit the Central and they jock this
We slang lleyo in the blocks, fuck a cop and get paid G
Gangbanger peel a cap, see
Summer hoes on thick
They ride a nigga's dick like a tick
When they think a nigga's straight rich
A drive-by on a nigga: cap cap cap, yo!
Another life took, here we go
87's make em bow down
Hoovers and N-Hood's, 9-0's, unite right now
And East Coast peel a cap cause cops don't like this
But South Central's gettin' ruthless
It's S.C.C., Prodeje and Havikk, loc
Rollin deep like some muthafuckin criminals
The A.K. talks better if your ass try to creep on
It's South Central, get your head flown
[L.V.]
Watch your back because I'm movin' real slow
It's a S.C.C. thang...
[PRODEJE]
In the S.C. bitches jock
The niggas with a knock-knock
6-4's drop with the fat knot
Oreos get bent on the Ides and the E.T.
Shoot craps and slap bone, G
5.0.'s ride [??????]
But after Rodney King O.G.'s load clips
You heard about the drive-by's, Crips and the Bloods servin' homicide
But now it's all about tryin to get unified
Let's take a stroll through my old shit
Manchester was the park where I kicked it
Hangin' on the one for the ends, what's the shot?
Servin' fat dubs to the clucks at my spot
I moved to the Seven and I still clock grips
Homies in the hood cap niggas off the tip
I went to Freemont, muthafucka, yeah, muthafucka
In S.C. it's straight on, muthafucka
Every city niggas got they shit
But yo, in S.C., boy, you gotta be legit
Cause you get clowned in the wrong hood, fuckin' with the wrong fool
And they don't give a fuck wearing county blues
[?????] in the S.C.
I said it's on, and niggas stay down, yo, it's cool, G
L.A. is where is at, take it from the smooth criminals
It's something about South Central
[L.V.]
Watch your back because I'm movin' real slow
It's a S.C.C. thang...
[VERSE 1: Prode'je]
The C-a-r-t-e-l's been here for ages
And ain't not one of them trick-ass radio stations played us
But that didn't fade us because we still gettin it on
I put the heat up under my seat and I'm gone
Bumpin the tape as I let the sun hit my Daytons
Fuck your ratings cause this gangsta shit make ends
I begins hittin them corners on the block
Servin the B.G.'s the double up on the rock
I shake the spot because my face comes with fame
And it's a shame the way them rats scream my name
And I'm fashionable, I'm hittin corners international
14 [?]
I'm on my phone to see if Rhime Son's at home
(I'm in the back polishin my chrome)
I be there in a minute so we can hit the zones
To let the U.S.C. know it's still on, it's on
[CHORUS: L.V.]
Gees still on the move
Westside and Eastside finna act a fool
You know it's all to the gees
Hittin switches with the S.C.C.
Radio don't give us props
It don't stop till the gangsta drop
So we gotta do it for the streets
And all the gees bumpin gangsta beats
[VERSE 2: Havikk the Rhime Son]
85 Cutlass on the creep from block to block on [?] deep dish
Killin the radio, I'm turnin it off, I'm bumpin that Bushwick
I gets my skate on, I'm flossin through the neighborhood
It's Mr. Rhime Son to the good
[ ] as I swerve to the curb in the seat
Gone off that herb and the word is I'm a gee
As we [?] another block I lets the trunk vibrate
18's droppin them bombs like Kuwait
I put it on the Richter as the 9.2, puttin the heater in my lap
Craps - yo, what they hittin fo'? Snap
Daps is what I give to Big Prod
Cartel Gang is finna hoo-bang when we ride
Check the rear-view cause you know bustas, them muthafuckas
Are sneaky as hell might as well
Dip with the clip tucked, snug for the funk
B-l-u-n-t, let the system thump
And it's like that
[CHORUS]
[VERSE 3: Havikk]
How many of you busters...
Are thinkin about servin us? Proceed with caution
Pin him in a turnin lane before he bend Slauson
The 85 Cutlass cuffed on d's, at ease...
Up off my nut sacks, like I said ain't no get back
Trump tight as we slide on
In a Cut and Young Prod, time to get your ride on
(Locsters) Cartel ridin Rolls in the '96, unfadable
Cause we don't need no damn radio
[Prode'je]
Prod and Rhime Son on triple gold d's
Checkin out the frequencies
In a hour they ain't played the S.C.C.
But I'm a gee regardless how many marks gon' ride
On the S.C.G.'s from the Evil Side, Big Prod
(And I, Mr. Rhime Son comin with the nine gun)
In the cut slugs get bucked, so what the fuck
Is really goin down, it ain't no changing faces
The man in the mirror is a gangster
Fo' life
[Prode'je]
Eastside and Westside riders
(Gangsters)
Cartel gang, nigga
(Fo' life)
What set you from?
"S.C.C."
[VERSE 1: Prode'je]
Gees tryin to move but some niggas wanna trip
Slide through yo hood bustin hollow-point tips
Eastside rider, locs without a doubt fo' the funk
Like the House Of Pain the fools 'jump'
Makin these fleas cease, niggas fleece for the piece
Double up on that ass like five g's
Ease down the Cartel road with my niggas in a 4
Lookin for the busters à la mode
Nada, suckin for your fuckin chin-checkin
Swervin through the Manchester intersection
Next in line for the ass-whippin - on a dime
The West coast stays on your mind - the line
Is thin, I'm in for the win so you lose
Original like Chuck T shoes
Who wanna dis the rider
Light a sucker up like the 4th
And leave him burnt toast
[CHORUS]
Busters don't know but I'm a Eastside rider, rider
(And if I catch you trippin, yo ass is gone)
And niggas don't know that I'm a Westside rider, rider
(And if I catch you slippin, yo ass is gone)
You get your ass bumped by the Eastside rider, rider
(And if I catch you trippin, yo ass is gone)
And get your ass fucked by the Westside rider, rider
(And if I catch you slippin, that ass is gone)
[VERSE 2: Havikk the Rhime Son]
Skatin down the 110, it's hot as fuck
Khakis on crease, pavements fucked up my Chucks
Flossin on the chip Motorola, hit the off-ramp bangin
Jesse Owens Park, neighborhood's out hangin
Glock on my hip, nigga, Westside gees
Easin through the breeze, spinnin on gold d's
Cavi-ass gangsta, nickel-plate-packer
Mark-ass-subtracter, anybody-blaster
I'm bouts to put that ass in a lynch
Marinate that ass on the curb like a bitch
Rhime Son regulatin things like Hussein, I'ma getcha
Yeah, and let these nine slugs get witcha
Dippin on a off-ramp, Rhime Son ain't nothin nice
A gangsta down to put that ass on some ice
I'm posted with the info aimed at your temple
It's simple for I to throw up Westside
[CHORUS]
[VERSE 3: Young Prod]
On a mission dippin, ratatat like that
Desert Eagle eager to lay yo ass down flat
For my scratch, knockin niggas out like I was Michael
Mack-10 got niggas' brains blowin in the wind
Holler at me rollin in a bucket lookin tacky
On the d-l don't love em cause niggas been tryin to jack me
Stackin ends, fetti, a nigga get ready to roll
Park the bucket, fuck it, nigga get ready to stroll
Walkin up the streets heated, money green gleam in my eye
Wanted to low-ride so I tried
To sell cavi but shit was too slow
So now I'm lookin for that fo'-do' lo-lo
Slow mo' West coast rider Eastsider
I'ma put it inside ya when I find ya
I'm behind ya and you're kinda scared
So be prepared, or shake the spot if you're scared
[CHORUS]
[cutting up of]
[Eazy-E] (Cruisin down the street in my 6-4)
[VERSE 1: Havikk]
I get my roll on in a six-fo' Chevy
Cutlass sounds and the gangsta's still in me
Checkin the streets and yo, my paint job is stickin
I saw my cousin straight on the corner trickin
Couldn't believe what I saw so I bust a right
And all I saw was a damn gang fight
Crips and Bloods straight scrappin on the backstreets
Packin gats and shootin into swap meets
Five-o's rollin and gafflin, I'm chillin
I hit a U and saw a nigga straight slingin
Lley to a undercover five-o
Five cars straight swooped and took him to the county, yo
I drove up 87th and [Name]
Saw a gangsta with a Uzi and a 40oz of 8Ball
Khakis low, sweatshirt and locs on
With a hat sayin Jake Capone
I just rolled by, I saw Snake, "Nigga, what's up?"
"What's up Havikk," it's a 64 Cut
Yo, I hit front, back, side to side
Three-wheel motion as I cruised out to East Side
Yeah
(Cruisin down the street in my 6-4)
I get my roll on, you know what I'm sayin?
(Cruisin down the street in my 6-4)
[VERSE 2: Havikk]
Scooped up B and said, "Nigga what you wanna do?"
Whatever's clever, let's roll through the Central
[?] and crank the funk
I punched out the piece out the window, yo
I hit a right on Alondra
I saw a freak cold steppin lookin like Jane Fonda
"What's up baby, Rhimeson's my ID
Now have you rolled in a six-fo' Chevy?
Hooked on the Dana Danes, yo, we're two pimps"
She said no, then she licked her lips
Kicked the seven digits, her name was Arhonda
Prod said that yo real propoer
Mobbed to the hood, scooped up the Killa G
Got a beep, Luva Gee and saw Mouthpiece
Gettin bent off the chronic chillin with a hoe
Parked the fo' and pumped Smooth Criminal
Niggas on my jimmy cause my six-fo' is stickin
Tinted windows, bumps and I'm chillin
I crank the funk and I bail to the corner sto'
Gettin my roll on in South Central
Yeah
(Cruisin down the street in my 6-4)
I get my roll on
(Cruisin down the street in my 6-4)
Yeah
[ VERSE 3: Havikk ]
Hit Crenshaw with the front cold slammin
Pumpin dope cuts by the ( ? ) straight draggin
Prod straight gee and a girl that's straight jockin
My smoke interior plus my sounds are knockin
I hit a right and saw Bridgette in a 10-4
Passed her up and got stopped by the five-o
They said my fo' was seen in a drive-by
Ran the plates and they asked for my alibi
"Now where were you at six o'clock?"
I said, "At my girl Shay on the 1-10 block"
My alibi checked and the five-o's jetted out
Popped the trunk and I got my damn strap out
Cranked the fo' and said outro
My batteries need a charge, so let's mob to the Central
We saw a cutie on the backstreets
Got her name and her number but baby wanted Prodeje
Another day of cruisin through the S.C.
Rollin deep and chillin with the posse
I try to chill but I gotta get my clown on
Cause in my six-fo' I get my roll on
Yeah
(Cruisin down the street in my 6-4)
I get my roll on in South Central
(Cruisin down the street in my 6-4)
Yeah
I get my roll on
[VERSE 1: Havikk the Rhime Son]
Dippin on the enemy I slides like a nigga should
Hands out the window givin it up for the neighborhood
Gangstas and gees servin that ass like the military
Runnin mo' yards than Marcus Allen through the cemetary
Swervin down the Chaw rollin evil with the glock cocked
Fiendin for the stinky as I rolls to the weed spot
Jump back in my ride I see a bitch, honk the horn
Parks my shit, bump the bitch, I'm [?] hit my turf, it's on
As I skate on the triple gold 100 spokes flossin
Bangin Scarface as I bend Slauson
To the swap meet to get the Karl Kani hook-up
Sippin on the yac I saw my cousin Jack, "What's up"
Muthafuckas mad-doggin me cause it's S.C.C.
Rhime Son, Prode'je and Mouthpiece
I'm finna hit the Chaw I gets a page from my brother Drew
"Where you at?" "Crenshaw" "Yo nigga, I'ma dip on through"
[CHORUS]
I'm finna hit the Chaw
And dip straight on by the law
I'm gonna [?] my gees
And [?] through the S.C.
[VERSE 2: Prodje'je]
Yeah, it's on as I swerve on my trey wheels
400 spokes hittin dips to the heels
On some come-up shit I got the gee into perspective
You know I got the chrome but the box is my objective
Dickeys on the ass of the Eastside rider
I see a few hoes but the Prod chose neither
You got to have ass to live In California
And if you see the ( ? ) I'll be all up on ya
Fo' life like Mack 10 rollin with stripes
And everytime you see me there's a freak on the ride
Hittin yo hoods and it's makin you sick
CausE the superfine hoes wanna ride on the dick
She just a trick cause all I wanna do is hit a lick
Her ass got the toc and the Prod's got the tic
And I'm slick, the wicked, the sly and all
When I swerve on the Chaw all I do is ball
[CHORUS]
[VERSE 3: Droop & Twin]
It's all good in these streets as I creep in a coupe drop
Candy-coated green gold d's with that white top
Sippin gin with the Twin as we swoop
Smellin like Joop, mackin to hoes in a Lexus coupe
Career is lookin good, you can say that Twin's winnin
Back up, hit the motion, let the Dayton keep spinnin
Grinnin cause I know my shit's on tight
Got heat under my seat so I'm gon' be alright
Cause when Droop hit them threes niggas hypnotized by my d's
But evil gees know they can't get with these
Ease in the cut, locs cut 400 spokes, feelin the breeze
Cause I gots to have gold on my d's, nigga please
Gees feel a nigga dippin down the Chaw
Bumpin "G Thang" as I swings on past the locs
With the Regals, Cutlass, fo's, Lacs and fat cash flow
[?] with a chip in my [?]
Ay wassup Nathan?
Ay wassup?
wassup of you and your brother new shit
oh , all I can say is to all those muthafuckas out there
that didn't wanna give my brothers props
...FUCK YOU
Yo Prod hit the muthafuckin hood and get a clown on G
A nine a clip the Uzi for the punks that wanna beef
down for the underground but niggas wanna front
It's the 1990's Havikk sent to poppin trunks
hit the damned parks all the niggas gettin loc
smokin that endo brawlin on a coke
Crips huggin Bloods Bloods huggin on a Crip G
Niggas got the AK stash for the PD ohh
i guess the felon has to rock it nigga don't stop
or either wake ya drop it
SCC's in the house to the ho's you
better hide that ass cause these niggas wanna do you uhh
i guess it's time for a drive-by
you wanna die nigga why nigga if you try
I might smoke cause I'm loc'd off the endo
south central style brake 'em like a window
huhh , who gives a damn nigga run up
get your ass beat in the street muthafucka
lighter than the lightest muthafucka cause I'm ruthless
come into my hood and your ass is leavin toothless
[chorus:]
had to be loc'd cause I claim south central
wassup punk this is south central
strollin thru the hood with the quickness
gunshots rippin niggas in the hood still trippin
gotta pack a Gat yo when I'm steppin with the fellas
cause 1 outta 10 in a crowd will get jealous
and wanna get his smoke on cause he packs chrome
but tryna flex and catch a .9 to your damned dome
so fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck the bullshit
I stay Geed and my attitude is kill bitch
I roll a 4 drop low on a twisters
a .380 in my labb for the jackers
south to the muthafuckin central call a jail pro
a young black muthafucka is on the way from home
locked down ain't shit G
I'm in and outta jail like a man and not a pussy
give me 5 years yo I'm outta in 2
back on the streets slangin yea it's nuttin new
but this is how we live and the shit we get with
a hardcore gangsta a four-time criminal
don't give a damn damn what they all say
I go to street and wake up with my AK
[chorus:]
had to be loc'd cause I claim south central
wassup punk this is south central
[Hook:]
Huh ,yeah we gon re-zip your ez-ass
in the ??
you're talkin about the thrizzy
nigga just listen to the muthafuckin V
It's all about the ?? millameter
rhimeson's takin shit to the climax
A muthafuckin G I'm puttin suckas on they back
I'm back with the burnin sensation to infliction
jam my fuckin brick up your ass you little misfit
steppin from the S.C. , H. , L.V.'n Prodeje
nuttin but locs in the hood fuck the police
niggas still shit kill shit and get licked
south central madness muthafucka we're the hit
Of hardcore flow buck-buck bang it up fool
spit your fuckin brains in ya labb and peel your cap
niggas wanna bail with the locs on the claim shit
get your fuckin ass lift fuckin with a lunatic
Prode'je nigga is it on?
yeah it's on , get the fuckin Glock later rip to the dome
load the fuckin Glock as I rott to a temple
shoot a nigga zippo then call me a criminal
hit the fuckin corner let the Uzi flow swift
spit your fuckin mouth cause I heard you wanna rift
the muthafuckin pen yo it's dearly as a cancer
think you can fade me nigga the NO is the answer
[chorus:]
had to be loc'd cause I claim south central
Yo Russell Simmons, this is your commander in chief
Of your West Coast operations, Havoc the Mouthpiece
My orders are to assemble a team of 6 of the West Coast's dopest rappers
I have chosen Prodigy, Havoc the Rhyme Son, Spice motherfuckin' 1
2Pac, Eiht from Compton's Most Wanted and Ice-T
So let the gangsta team begin
Gnaw on a dick motherfucker 'cause I'm a rip a gangsta skit
And blow your motherfuckin' ass into an increment
I rip 'em vertical diagonal, I mean fucked
You show that ass and I'm a physically tear it up
Another G with a glock givin' a fuck about a cop
I do my talkin' with a 12-gauge buckshot
Like Spice 1 I'm just a giggity-giggity gangsta
And keepin' a motherfuckin' slug up in the chamber
I Don't Give a Fuck like 2Pac
I get a fuckin' thrill when I see a cop drop
Squeeze yo motherfuckin' neck and snatch your head off your shoulders
Peel ya fuckin' cap, reads your brain like the devil boy
I told ya, make a move for your gat
And I'ma split your fuckin' back, 6 ways with a mack
Havoc's in a mood to put a dick in the dirt
Jeffrey Dahmer gets no love 'cause I'm the murder 1 expert
You couldn't deal with the real shit
So you got ass whipped, fuckin' with a lunatic, bitch
West Coast on a wreck, so motherfuck the mainstream
You tuned into the gangsta team
I broke it down one time for the gangsta flex
Snappin' necks as I wreck from the gangsta teks
You gets no love, you get a 9 in your asshole
Droppin' it in the back the fuckin' niggas with a damn pole
And that nigga Prod, he's a gangsta
I know the game bro and I could be a fuckin' murderer
The hot shells melt yo ass G and the Tales From the Crypt
Grabs yo ass like the movie
You got fucked up nigga when you fucked up
The brain splat on the floor like some damn nuts
West Coast they hoo-ride on your ass
If you fast, you will still get mortified
Members only motherfuck the phony
I give your ass the blues like Tony Toni Tone
Regulate in the 9-tre nigga
This is payday, comin' from the mists with an A-K
O.G. stand no G. nigga from the S.C. with a glock in my hood
It don't stop 'til a nigga drop
I don't drop but I bust hot slugs from a drop top
Yeah, Rhyme Son and Prodeje, that's the way to show motherfuckers
How the gangsta team is runnin', shit
Now it's time for the rest of you motherfuckin' gangstas to show 'em
How we livin'
Now I'm losin' it 'cause my brother died
Lookin' down the barrel of a 9 from the other side
Never really did read coppers from the episode
Finger on the motherfuckin' tek ready to let it go boom
Now these devils really fear me
I told ya last year, nigga holla if ya hear me
And one-time can't fuck with my 4-5
Do or die, stay high 'til I motherfuckin' die
Cop-killas killin' cops much props
You gets love from the motherfuckin thug niggas on the block
Swingin' hard as a motherfuckin' barbell
Doin' it for my niggas in the S.C. Cartel
Run up on me nigga and I'm blastin' ya
You can't fuck with the West Coast massacre
Check check, microphone check, who's next
The Cartel's in the house breakin' fools necks
And I'm the motherfuckin' cop killa, now on y'all
When I used to pimp them hoes, they called me Ice Gorilla
Motherfucker, it's on and you should've known
I don't give a fuck about ya from word say, "Yo"
I don't give a fuck about much no more
You might catch Ice robbin' liquor stores
Before I stop checkin' a bank packin' a shank
Peelin' back busters to maintain my street rank
Down with the Cartel and 2Pac
The pigs want a nigga with a scope on a rooftop
Punk motherfuck 'em they better duck 'em
When I'm out to kill, I'm quick to buck buck 'em
Bailin' with the Eiht from C.M.W.
My nigga Spice 1 is causin' trouble too
Yeah, so how you wanna fight
We can either straight scrap or bust caps all night
On and on, I broke dawn and I'm on to stop to these G's
And we'll motherfuckin' break you, heart clean
You can't fuck with the gangsta team
It goes one for my niggas bow here come the nigga
Fools get pushed to the street 'cause I'm in too deep
I'm buckin 'em down as they fall, I laugh
And I'm stealin' babies fresh out the twat so the gangsta's pass
Just call me the big black wolf
Snappin' motherfuckers from the top of my roof
No need for help 'cause Eiht'll do the hangin'
Down with the gang so let me start bangin'
Niggas don't fuck around
So don't be a fool, get popped 8 times with the two
And that's the way we chillin'
I let my nigga Ice do the fuckin cop killin', geyeah
I gang bang with the slang from the hub G
I'm killin 'em off taken 'em down you'll be R.I.P.
I guess that's the way your silly ass where you gets
Sorry clown needs to stay the fuck down with that bullshit
I'll mack that ass, take your cash
And no sleepin' when I do my creepin' on the bozos fast
Geyeah nigga, fool don't scheme
Down with the motherfuckin' gangsta team
Now I'm 'bout to pull the motherfuckin' trigger
Comin' at 'em with no love is the [Incomprehensible] uh young nigga
Drinkin' red rum 'cause I'm 187 proof
I'll kill these coppers with my mask on fuck 'em gets my blast on
Nigga, offin' motherfuckers like a faucet
Mop they ass like some water, it's the motherfuckin' slaughter
G bloody glock in my lap as I creep
With the dead motherfucker in the passenger seat
Murder fact with the murder squad
Kill 'em and I rob, it's a murder job, nigga
So let the caps keep peelin' on they ass
Say murder show at 12 and nigga don't be late
'Cause me and Pac got yo back if the homies call
Ratta-a-tit-ta-tat, quick to fuck 'em up, y'all
South Central motherfuckin' Cartel
Niggas bail when we mob like we outta hell
I'm causin' havoc 'cause my nigga Havoc said it's on
So I'm a buck 'em and I'm a fuck 'em with the shiny chrome
Kill cop, me love cop, kill
Me strangle, say me strong for the motherfuckin' thrill butta-a-bye-bye
G nut nuttin' nut but the fuck got my D.J.
Extra large with the neener to ya nuts
Motherfucker O.G. like Ice T. peep warning
Motherfucking Body Count 6 In The Morning
The gangsta team
Yeah, I got to give it up that was a job well motherfuckin' done
You motherfuckers came out and showed 'em how we do it
On the motherfuckin' West Coast with the gangsta shit
Let 'em know how we doin' it, G. muthafuckin' nut
What's up motherfuckers?
It's G-Nut from the 1-8-seneven and I'm here in ghetto heaven
Yeah folks, motherfuckin' Russell Simmons
That's how we doin' this shit on the West Coast
So, watch out for the gangsta team
[Verse 1]
It's 1996 and I'm dippin with my G
I'm claimin Cartel till I die, sippin hennessey
Got the rolex on my neck and my wrist
Dis a hoe that's all I know as the 100 spoke twist
G's rollin tighter than a G-string hoes wanna playa hate
The conversation's stupid 'cause forever I'ma celebrate
And aim with my homies finger clutched on a Tec.9
Yo bitch, you walk a thin line
Buggin 'cause I'm rockin videos in they eyes, buggin me
Packin up your shit and leavin me while I'm in Italy
So let the dog hit you where the dog shoulda porched on
In other words get the fuck on
Tryna stack a mill ticket
But you always get mad when my G's kick it
But on the road it's us against the world
For my G I would take a slug
'Cause it's gangsta luv
[Chorus]
It's that gangsta love from the S.C.C.
Talkin 'bout these bitches and rollin with my G's
It's that gangsta love from the S.C.C
Can't get no peace because these hoes keep sweatin me
[Verse 2]
I'ma be a G from the nighttime to the break of dawnin
'N the morning I clip the .9 mill when I'm yawnin
Performin days'n days but you be trippin on my status
Buggin me with family matters
I'm a gangster when I mention that's the way I kick it
Now that you addicted you tryna make me switch it
I picture me and you holdin, blue 64
Baby locs in the back seat hittin dips hoe
(Bonnie & Clyde) no matter what the fuck is happenin
You holdin my back that's even if it call for cappin
And scrappin baby had love for G's
Another page from the eastside trilogy
But you be buggin, couldn't deal with a gangsta's lovin
It's nuthin that'll keep your lifestyle plush'n
Rushin from hood to hood 'cause you think I'm caught slip'n
But it's gangsta luv still dipp'n
[Chorus]
[Verse 3]
Blowin up my pager and you know you had the chance
But I never call you back I hope that ass understands
You see me dippin in a beamer 5-25
High sippin on a Semor
Right, now you wanna ride with a nigga
'cause a nigga's livin large, hoe
Posted in the Central, I drop that ass like some cargo
Rhimeson on a path to luxuries so stop beepin me
Hoe, your ass is history
As my game got deep like the Abyss
I had to make you drop the miss, prod
And now you miss, tha
Rollin Havikk Rhimeson and the Prode'je
Callin all the hoes that begin with the letter "B"
Saw you couldn't deal with this, you say I'm caught up in the game
My head had blown up from the fame, I'm the same
O.G. E-A-S-T rider
With this gangsta luv I provide ya
Another soldier from the Central with the 80 in my pocket
A nigga's knocked it and I fucked him like socket
Cleared his fuckin' ass, 'cause I never play the last place
So now he's walkin' with the muthafuckin' gas face
That's right, I'm burnin' muthafuckas like a arsonist
I have you walkin' like a crippled and retarded bitch
I never fuck around when I'm with a team of fuckin' gangsters
West coast freestyle bangsters
Kickin' a foot up in yo ass like Pele
And prosecute like the muthafuckin' D.A.
I'm rollin' a small coupe drop through the hood of G's
And hittin' the chips on the undercover P I G's
I'm givin' a fuck about naythin', muthafucka Satan
'Cause I'm the only nigga crematin'
Fool, the Prod came out heartless
The gang related, don't be another nigga on my shit list
I don't waste a minute, muthafuckas I be smokin'
I got another gang story to tell, peep
Sometimes I walk around strapped, nigga
I got another gang story to tell, peep
Back up in the hood I thought you knew, oh punks you didn't know
Though you got a grip you're gettin' dropped like a sixty-fo'
I put my foot up in your ass so far
I'm leavin' prints on your neckline, signed Mr. Bogart
Another victim of society why did you lie to me?
So I gotta use my strap daily and take you muthafuckas out
It coulda been prevented but the niggas was sho' from the sto'
A.K.47 ways to heaven, I took 'em for a 211 and left his ass with 187
Just a another nigga dead and gone
He fell victim to the chrome as I punched in the gold broam
I roll the streets with a murder rep
I'm known for kickin' hoes and niggas' necks
And causin' 'em a instant death
Young niggas goin' in and comin' out winnin'
The gang story that a nigga's tellin'
I don't waste a minute, muthafuckas I be smokin'
I got another gang story to tell, peep
Sometimes I walk around strapped, nigga
I got another gang story to tell, peep
I don't waste a minute, muthafuckas I be smokin'
I got another gang story to tell, peep
Sometimes I walk around strapped, nigga
I got another gang story to tell, peep
South Central L.A. is the gang capital of the world
Where niggas walk around strapped daily
And won't hesitate to smoke yo ass in a minute
Take it from the Mouthpiece, this is just another gang Story
Back up in the hood, oh yes I'm back
I'm leavin' your fuckin' skull marinated in the heat as I creep
I'm stickin' my shoe up in your ass so far
My shoestring will look like hemorrhoids
As you're lyin' in the fuckin' morgue
I gives a fuck when I creep
I told you I was evil as a nigga when I'm lyin' by the devil 'sleep
I let the slugs fly quick
The Tec-22 is in your ass like flies on shit
I'm from the depths down below, the ground ward
The graveyard, rockin' you niggas, 'cause I'm that hard
Rhimeson causin' havoc for the underground
You fuck around, you lie around and yo, you hang around
I'm puttin' niggas on grave shift
The Glock-9 plays connect the dots off in your ass, bitch
The hardest nigga with a G slang
'94, here we go, muthafuckas, it's a G thang
I don't waste a minute, muthafuckas I be smokin'
I got another gang story to tell, peep
Sometimes I walk around strapped, nigga
I got another gang story to tell, peep
Just another muthafucka who got tore down
Came home and beat his hoe down
Bust shots at the police and lost the showdown
Low down but now his little brother's stuck on payback
Rollin' through the hood and them little niggas stay strapped
What can I say, black? B.G. is heartless
Usin' one-time as targets, I warned you not to start this
'Cause he's down with some down-ass niggas from around the way
It be that way, they got they nuts off fo' deep and they down to play
Anything you hoes wanna do
We'll bust a right at the light, come back and bomb that corner, fool
Four young niggas ready to fuck your cap up
Left three niggas dead and you thought they wouldn't act up?
Zip the sack up, and wipe the blood off of the flo'
Started some shit, and now they got everybody at each other's throats
Kinda fucked up but that's the way it be
These niggas don't be playin' on these muthafuckin' streets
I don't waste a minute, muthafuckas I be smokin'
I got another gang story to tell, peep
Sometimes I walk around strapped, nigga
I got another gang story to tell, peep
I don't waste a minute, muthafuckas I be smokin'
I got another gang story to tell, peep
Sometimes I walk around strapped, nigga
[PRODEJE:]
Playin' like a gangsta, you wanna be a G
I told you gangstas boogie, did you listen to the P?
I tell you how it's on if you recognize the real
You ain't the only brother out there fiendin for the kill
Playin' like a gangsta, you niggas better see
I represent my Loc and you represent yo' G
Cause players only prosper as you suckers bite the dust
And wonder why they died from the millimeter bust
Now you can be my Cuz, homie, I can be yo' Blood
But if you true to self, G, I got to show you love
They wonder if it's Crip but does it matter where I G?
I'm sick of doin' shows for niggas lookin' mad at me
I represent the small percent of real niggas
Never claim the hood even though I pull triggers
Now get directly at me, I'm not trippin' on the fame
I'm talkin' to my niggas playin' in this G's game
[Chorus:]
You playin' in the G's game
And homie, it's hard to maintain
If you slip in the hood it's never all good
Cause you can get smoked in the hood
You playin' in the G's game
And homie, it's hard to maintain
If I can be your Loc, then you can be my G
It's all to the G
[HAVIKK THE RHYME SON:]
Now recognize, open yo' eyes as I hit the switch dippin'
Sippin' on that St. in the cut reminiscin'
Cause deep in this game the mentality is devilish
You wanna be a G, but you ain't even ready yet
Went to high school, dropped out, you couldn't handle it
Hangin' with them brothers had to knew was straight scandalous
Got it in yo' mind that you gots to pack the .44
Quarter on the hood, to stack a end you slang lleyo
On the run daily, now you're livin' foul
Mom's cryin' nightly, so she throwin' in the towel
I used to be a G-sta of em all, but bullets don't have bites
So it made a brother realize
I can be a G rockin shows
Clockin, stackin' ends, droppin' tracks in studio
Yeah, but jealousy plays the part cause these fools wanna maddog, loc
When I'm dippin' on 'em hundred spokes
[Chorus...]
[PRODEJE:]
Now back up in the days
They used to settle beef just from the shoulder
But now they want the funk and I can smell the fuckin odor
It's mandatory, brothas gots to pick a strap up
The gangstas move in town to built the ghetto back up
And all the bustas sweatin' Prodeje because I'm clockin'
I used to buck a fool, say "fuck a fool", but now I'm rockin'
The other dialect to put my G into perspective
And all that's bound to scare should come to get their ass collected
[HAVIKK THE RHYME SON:]
And now you on the run, you caught a case
You wanna get your stripes, so you shot a Baby Loc in his face
Now face the fact retaliation, is a must, G
And if you slip, yo' enemies are gonna bust, G
And if you make it home, you're lucky
Cause ghetto warfare is leavin' niggas' minds twisted like Chuckie
Rhyme Son say it's crucial, black G'z need to wake up then
And recognize the fuckin' games that you play with me
(Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up)
(Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up)
(Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up)
(Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up)
(Get down)
(Wessyde)
[VERSE 1: Havikk the Rhime Son]
I'm posted up in a Cutlass, hoo-bangin in a bucket
Hennessy got a nigga mind shifted, so fuck it
Told you muthafuckas we was back droppin amity
Riders on deck, Chuck T's my calamity
Servin any niggas tryin to dip on them whips
100 spokes gold thangs so I bangs with the clip
Out of the cut like a [?] I slides like a Klingon
[?] hit the switch and leave that ass froze like freon
It's them mad-ass Cartel gangsters
Throwin bolos so fuck what Bo knows cause I'ma bank ya
Put your ass on some crutches
Stackin ends like the Dutches
Counterreact for the attack like Marcus Allen rushes
It's that Westside rider Rhime Son, like that
In a 'burban still swervin sippin on a cognac
With my tag team, Prode'je, nigga, you couldn't fuck with the realest
We get in that ass like Bruce Willis
Bitch
(Funk you right on up
we gonna funk you right on up)
Westside
(Funk you right on up
we gonna funk you right on up)
Eastside rider
(Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up)
Yeah
(Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up)
Nigga
(Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up)
Peep game
(Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up)
Well, sit your punk-ass down
(..down)
Eastside rider
[VERSE 2: Prode'je]
Predatory like the Terminator, mo' game than Sega
How many muthafuckas wanna step to this omega
Supreme, the .44 cocked for the cream
I fiend for the green so the gee's on the scene
My diamond's in the back but your diamond's in my pocket
I knock your jaws loose flyin things like a rocket
You couldn't stop it cause 6-4's, yeah, we drops it
Comin for your ( ? ) slingin muthafuckin toxic
Niggas never loc unless you worry S.C.
Cause many muthafuckas I can bury O.G.
But when you close your eyes it's the gees comin atcha
Khakis, Chuck T's, Beefy-Tee's, I'ma gatcha
Steady dippin, things whippin, am I crippin
Niggas hate a player so the playa-hatas trippin
When the Rhime Son ridin shotgun niggas see the blues
And we don't give a fuck about yo crews
(Funk you right on up
we gonna funk you right on up)
Eastside rider
(Funk you right on up
we gonna funk you right on up)
Wessyde
(Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up)
Haha
(Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up)
Geah
(Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up)
1996
(Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up)
Sit yo ass down
(...down)
Cartel riders
[VERSE 3: Rhime Son]
I'm dippin back to the hood ragged up too deep
Extended clips, hollow tips, Murder Squad don't sleep
I'm terrorizin a terroist, fuck Hussein and his posse
Expanded flows, hot .44's, khaki saggin, fuck a Nazi
I'm mobbin block to block, chronic got a nigga on twist
I gets deeper than the death, so muthafuck the _Abyss_
It's the S.C. O.G. (Who I be?) H-a-v
96 in your shit, Rhime Son and Prode'je
[Prode'je]
Cause we be swingin 17, makin muthafuckas over
Comin through your hoods like a muthafuckin soldier
Gangsta rap is over, muthafuckas, how you figure?
Cause bein anti-gee is like bein anti-nigga
They try to put to bed but the gee is never sleepin
I'm down with TLC cause the nigga sho' creepin
The chronic flows, as it grows you'se a witness
So sit the fuck down and let the gees handle business
(Funk you right on up
we gonna funk you right on up)
Westside
(Funk you right on up
we gonna funk you right on up)
Eastside rider
(Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up)
Yeah
(Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up)
Nigga
(Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up)
Busters
(Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up)
Sit your punk-ass down
(..down)
Nigga right
Westside and Eastside on a mission, nigga
199-c-c, muthafuckas
South Central Cartel beatin yo ass since '91
And it don't stop
Never that, never that, nigga
199... to infinity
I feel like ridin
(This is for my nigga: Payback)
Somebody took my nigga
I feel like goin' to war
Goin' to war
Goin' to war
[VERSE ONE]
All I think about is the love that you had for the game
We get into with some niggas, you wasn't the first to bang
Don't know how bad I wanted to you see you with yo' riches and thangs
Hit yo' switches in your '94 Lincoln on Dana Danes
I'm in the back seat of the Monte Carlo sittin on stuff
Dreamin about the double my lick, it got me y'all fucked up
Puffin' a blunt, shit, I grab my gat, spray shit up
Somebody responsible, where yo' homie at? That started that stuff
This nigga deserve to have his bitch-ass touched
That's on the real, I'm shedin' tears
Knowin this is the last year we kicked it
I was addicted to the way that you would spit yo' flow
These niggas in the game is lucky, homie, they just don't know
To think that we would lose a link so soon
It never crossed my mind
that every day we livin' from the sun to the moon
But you won't that darkness hold us down
So all the sparks is blood now
As I vision yo' face up in the clouds, rest in peace
[Chorus:]
If you feelin' like we feelin' now
Stuck in the rain while it's pouring down
Thinking 'bout my homie, where the time goes
Wish you never would have left us but that's selfish, though
For real...
[YOUNG PROD]
Sittin' on the porch, blazin' blunts I see yo' face
Comin' through the gate I swear to God I saw it today
My heart beatin fast, you lookin' like you comin' my way
It playback in my dome cause I can't let you stray
I'm your dog, you my Loc and that's forever, sho'
I get that tat, I show you that, watch, we gon' blow
I hit the Hen for you, thinkin' sin for you
But I know you want a nigga to win, spend some ends for you
But the waterfalls in my eyes don't lie
The waterfalls in my eyes don't dry, you my nigga
You got yo' wings now, no more nicotine now
No more blackin out, no more talk rowd'
Now thou shall disrespect Payback
The resurrection-like comeback
But the Lord'll make you devil niggas lay flat, uh huh
For the love of this my nigga shall ????? like what
Payback rest in peace, never mentally deceased, we love you
[Chorus...]
[HAVOC]
I can't believe my nigga Payback...(Payback)
Shot over some bullshit, man (fuckin' bullshit)
The shit is gonna affect for us a long muthafuckin time (Full Clipp)
Rest in peace homie
[PRODEJE]
Pour the liquor for they loved ones
I give it all for my loved ones
Won't let the world forget where you came from
The Full Clippers - we all shedin' tears
We all wish to God you was here
But since you passed we feel we gots to still smash
For real, mash on these niggas with the scrutiny flows, we all ask
Why the hell it had to happen to us?
Why this nigga had to bust?
Turned the homie to dust and still live
And it's nothin that we wouldn't give
I can't believe I lost a G
Before we got in the game, I feel a chill
In my heart still, whatever we do
It playin' a part still
We still split that mill with your moms, it's all real
[Intro]
Nigga
Who a real rider is?
My family fool!
That's right
Puts it down on any hood or clique
That's real trick
[Verse 1]
It's the young mackola, slangin crack to stackola
The chip motorola holds the .44 to blow ya
Dohja smoke ignites the fire like lighters
The drop 64's catch the hoes on sighta
Let's take a trip to where the homies puts it down
They get [?] and say I never come around
But I'm in traffic, tryna make a proper come up
Livin in this hell hole makes me wanna blow my dome up
My baby mama is more righteous than they come
The hood's on my back, the child support don't help me none
So now I'm on a mission, niggas in my rear view
Damn it's the homie, what the fuck them niggas up to
I bust a U. and still the homies on my backside
I grab the .44 hit the petrol in a G-O metro
And damn, I still got payments on this muthafucka
I lost all the hub caps and the homies I don't trust 'em
[Chorus]
Well Young Prod if these niggas start trippin
And Twin I got your back too if it's mo' than two
And if it's mo' than three they gotta fuck with me
And that's how it's gon swing with this family thang
[Verse 2]
Y'all niggas kill me, feel me down when you up around
Clown me, down me when your ass not up around me
Now tell me G who's the fuckin playa hata
Mad 'cause I put my family up on some paper
My homie Joe gave me the 'fo on your bitch-ass
Hey troop I got your back loc, so won't you put the smash
Down, clowns like you I call haters
Mad 'cause you jock us but still can't fade us
It's young trip on a creep as I tips down, man
They got nothin to lose but 50 G's to gain
If I maintain a low profile like a Pirelli
'Cause niggas be schemin like evil side and wicked dreamin
Night after night be havin a nigga straight plottin
Like "Oliver Stone" out to get a grip of his own
And it's on and ain't no fakin niggas out for the takin
But if they come at me wrong Rata-tat-tat, ain't no get bacc
[Chorus]
[Verse 3]
Now from the gate I gots to skate block to block when I'm swervin
Puffin up on that herb and still down for curb servin
Cutlass on deck, niggas trip, I'm a winner
Khakis and Chuck T's, gold D's as I bend the
Nigga's block, batteries hot, lockin a 40
Gold Rhimeson packin heat and it's on
Niggas playa hatin 'cause I stack the chip, dippin in a C-low
Puttin my bang down with my kinfolks
I see them half-ass hoes so damn down I used to figure
But now I'm hearin shit, it makes me wanna pull a trigger
Nigga, I put you down when you had nathin
Nigga, but now I'm hearin 'bout your playa hatin
Rollin in my low-low '64 loc, with my kinfolks
Fake-ass locs they get smoked tho'
We still deep, we be tight like Vice Grips
Collectin chips, dumpin clips on niggas who set trip
[Chorus]
[Outro]
BiAtch
Westside and Eastside
Takin your ass on a gangsta ride
So peep this shit out nigga
It's the "in-a-cut-gang", baby, baby
And it's the South Central Cartel, baby
And it's the Young Prod thang, baby, baby
And all them niggas can't fade me
I'm crazy
Yeah, we be puttin it down for the 199-muthafuckin-6
[Havoc]
1st S.C.C. came at your ass with 'South Central Madness'
Some of them muthafuckas didn't wanna give us our side respect
Now S.C.C. doin they shit South Central style
[Havikk The Rhime Son]
Biggedy-bang!
I let your fuckin brain hit the concrete
And jiggedy-jock your fuckin ass into dog meat
South Central Cartel gives a fuck so it's mayhem
A laceration of your ass limp
7 bold muthafuckas with a G-swing
A G-thang on your ass like a dawg, mayn
Playback-nigga chalk that
Get your ass rat-packed
With Glock lead in your nutt sacks
I'm Hoo-ridin like Tyson -I guess it's on
To brake a muthafuckin bone straight towards your dome
Niggas thought I was a no-no a fuckin so-so
Tryin to float -oh no, you better duck loc
Hoes jock real niggas, I guess they figure
Real niggas take notes,shit,get the picture
9-3 is the terrior callin a ?Paul-bearin?
I'm khaki-suited and your bitch is tearin
Put your ass in a skillet
Peel your fuckin cap back
Pull out my dick and piss all in it
I got a scoap that'll buck a muthafucka from a mile bitch
And I do it South Central Style
[Chorus x2]
Do it S.C.
Do it S.C.
Muthafucka do it South Central style (muthafucka)
[Prodeje]
Brakin muthafuckas off quicker
S.C.'s back bitch
But now it's time to paint another picture
I'm killin a nigga with my Nina
Buck to your damn dome
I told you muthafuckas 'bring it on!'
Cause real niggas ain't sleeping
And O.G.'s don't die and only poof-butt muthafuckas cry
The other level of a Die Hard
Duckin the buckshots and pull them muthafuckas like a Hoe-card
Played pussy, get fucked up
Knocked out in a hood where my homeboys roll tough
Weak niggas can't fade this
A born killer the shit you be seein in a thriller
But 'Chucky' won't die 'Chucky' won't die bitch
A find a poor muthafucka and I kill it
And while you die I survive
Then creep on another hoe
And drop his ass like a '64
It's just a G-thang niggas straight street-bang
You either hang with a gang or you dope slang
Bandanas on my ass [???] and a Nine G
That's how I do it in the S.C.
[Chorus x2]
[L.V.speakin]
[Havikk The Rhime Son]
We do it like a G cause we're loc'd
And nigga's outta line
??? to get they punk-ass smoked
I give 'em the backs cause it's like this
In '93 I'm brakin the niggas off with a new twist
The Cartel ain't for bustas
Stinky cock bitches
Who only want a nigga for the riches
Only the real know the deal
So the real niggas stay down
And let the punk niggas get clowned
The county blues never stop shit
Eastside Hoo-ridin mutahfuckas on load clips
Rat-a-tat muthafuck 'em
I can't wait to cross 'em
A G on a set 'Prod buck 'em
Put a nigga deep in a whole where it's cold as a freezer
And body-bag them muthafuckin skeezer
Yeah, I told you stupid muthafuckas I was rollin
I'm on your ass like a cancer on a colon
Put niggas in a meat wagon
My pants keep saggin
187 on the grand dragon
Khakied up with my fingers on the muthafuckin trigger
I do it S.C. style nigga
[INTRO: Young Prod]
Every since we dropped down
We noticed radio didn't wanna swing with the locs
So like riders we swung with the gees
From Jesse Owens to Manchester Park
From Will Rodgers to Green Meadows Park
S.C.C. put it down for them 10% of real niggas
Keep droppin em, from the shoulders
What's up Treach?
West coast for life
Yeah
[VERSE 1: Havikk the Rhime Son]
As I jumps up thinkin to myself it's another day
Find myself reminiscin on the 1970s
Had the swimming pool and at the park on deck
Even if you gangbanged it didn't matter what set
Doin flips, hittin dips, mobbin to the sto' later
Grabs the Bubble Yum, Jolly Ranchers, Now-Laters
Jesse Owens Park was the spot to hang
Retaliation from the shoulders is the name of the game
Didn't need to pack the fo', put the nine on your hipster
Bang and gettin high, slap-boxin, yeah, a g-ster
Manchester Park, I remember summer school lunches
Mobbin to the park off in bunches
Mom's chillin out with her sister and pops
Kaos in the front gettin sweated by cops
Shootin hoops at the [?], take the bus to the movies
With yo gees, damn I miss the 1970s
[CHORUS: L.V.]
Time after time
I know we can change your mind
(Ain't nothin goin on but the bomb)
Kickin game with the S.C.C.
(Ain't nothin goin on but the bomb rap song)
I know we can break it down
(Ain't nothin goin on but the bomb)
It's the bomb, so won't you swing it with me
[VERSE 2: Prode'je]
It's one for the hoods all across the ghettos
From Will Rodgers Park all the way to Green Meadows
The Cartel's back, put the gats in the stash, gee
Let your sounds bounce as we mob through the '90s
Like we used to roll 40 deep in the '80s
30 O.G.'s and about 10 ladies
Chillin at the park with the loud conversation
Homies gettin blazed and the [?] givin [?]
Mr. Prod's from the S.C.
Hittin dips through your hood in my '86 Caddy
I used to roll a 64 on gold d's
But everywhere I went I had to have some O.G.'s
Leanin to the side in a gangster lean
Mad-doggin player-haters cause they quick to scheme
So i sold it got a Coupe De Ville, now I'm dippin forever
And yeah, the Cartel still together
[CHORUS]
[VERSE 3: Havikk the Rhime Son]
Summertime goes and comes, it's the '90s
6-4's drop and the tops chop, trunk got that bump
Gold d's cause the gees got it poppin
From S.C. to L.B. to Compton
Chip Motorola, 'yac and herb
It gets crucial drive-by's jumpin off daily
And your lady might be your lady for a minute
But once you slip, gee, your homeboy's all up in it
[ Prode'je ]
And I'ma keep movin through the six and the seven
Motivatin hoods cause it's all to the good
As we circle every hood like the solar system
Droppin dialect on the rhythm
The wisdom leavin pink panties marinatin
Escapin the 95 L Coupe skatin
Cause though I'm still g-ed I'm a player for life
It's '96 and Cartel still bringin the hits
[CHORUS]
Are you ready
for the time of your life
Everybody stand up
stand up
Are you ready
for the time of your life
stand up
stand up
Are you ready
for the time of your life
stand up, yeah
then stand up
Are you ready
(are you ready)
said are you ready
(are you ready)
are you ready
(are you ready)
for the ride of your life
ready
(ready)
I said are you ready
(are you ready)
[INTRO]
Damn.I must be dreamin
I can't be dreamin. I don't see no motherfuckin bitches I can diss
Damn. All these motherfuckin brothers around me
I know that motherfucker I know him and I know that punk
I'm in this motherfuckin county again
Feelin the bluez...
[VERSE 1]
Damn in the county again another felony
2 and a half could be the strech so they tellin me shit
I ain't wid it but I deal wid the shit
Laid back take a hit on a hunk and spit
In a safe nigga damn I ain't wit this
Punk cops walkin by with a shit list
Going down for a bronko with a big old G
Stuck his ass with the 4 cause he's fuckin with P
Only time on my hand and its killin me
Gettin punked by the motherfuckin deputy
Keep your shoulder on the wall niggas don't look back
because I'm black they think a brother don't know how to act
All the gangsters gangster don't be tricked
The nigga tryin to be yo friend but you might get picked
Or get faded you'll be cool playa friend
Saggin you up to get up in you ass
Fucked up livin as a number
Shit I gotta make it so I pipe down
Cold chillin in the county where a punk gets clowned
[CHORUS]
Now I'm dressed in the county bluez
Cause in the county you know everybody
Now I'm dressed in the county bluez
Damn another felony thats what they tellin me
[VERSE 2]
In the county bluez I refused to be a sucker
And hold my breath for a punk motherfucker
Yo a damned gangster in the system of hell again
Where men beat men and men fuck men
Six in the mornin called on a roof top
Callin my number as I stand with my hands locked
To a fool who did a 187 yo life is a bitch
In the county its like death row
Punk ass deputies talk like they all that
I stock on the ground if I talk I get ratpacked
Yeah you gotta play their game or get fucked up
Put in the box like a dog you get locked up
Yeah they call us niggas they diss us and they talk shit
Put us in a cell with a nigga holdin a hard dick
Yeah I pulled a ???? and I puff on it
I got a letter from Shay with I love you on it
Damn another day of this I might a-walk
Fools gettin shanked and hunged in a shower hall
Havik I'm doin my time with the crazy fools
Yo I'm dressed in these county bluez
[CHORUS]
Man I'm tired of these motherfuckin deputies
Tellin me to put my hands in my pockets
and my shoulders on the wall
And my bitch ain't even brought me my wet ?photo? yet
Man I'm tired of these bluez
[VERSE 3]
Home again lover G in the premises
Kickin ass is my everyday business
You check me cause on the streets I'm cool
But your the county off known to bring to change a fool
On the streets I'm a G in the county I'm O.G.
E to the E from the S.C.C.
Shackled down because I'm out to fuck son
Punk motherfuckers with the 9 to try son
Stupid ass gangs on the nigga you hate the law
But we'll see who pushed off the shore
Look I'm 23 and my problem is this
I beat a bitch down and a bitch felt this
Know I'm in a cell where I flow shit
Makin niggas bent over for some pole shit
Niggas play me for crackin a young stupid ass cell mate
Turned out tryin to perv a tray
In the county you dare if you do what you don't do
So one might try you or you might slide through
The system smooth but fuck with
But in the county I'm down for this bullshit
Yeah...........
[CHORUS]
Damn. You mean to tell me I'm still in this motherfuckin county
This shit is crazy. I guess Imma learn and deal with this fucked up ass shit
Life in the county jail.
My dumb hoe still ain't brought my wet ?photo? yet
Everytime I call home.
That fucked up ass hoe ain't at home
And where she is
The bitch want me to sell my collect car
But I ........I guess you'll respect that shit
When you in the county
Feelin these fucked up ass bluez
[INTRO]
Yo Rhimeson and Luva Gee, y'all heard that fucked up ass shit that happened to D and V?
Yeah nigga, I heard about that bullshit
Bitch-ass sheriff, punk-ass LAPD
Came in with beanies aimin at the homies
Man, I told y'all muthafuckin niggas the feds ain't shit
Yo intro
Yo Prod, man, you heard about that shit that happened to D and V, man?
Yeah man, I heard about that bullshit
Gattin on the homies
You know what I'm sayin, the police ran up on em with beanies on they head and shit?
What the fuck is that, you know what I'm sayin?
Punk muthafuckin LAPD
Man, they break more laws than a nigga do
CIA, FBI, all they tell us is lies, you know what I'm sayin?
Fuck the feds, you know what I'm sayin
Fightin crime with crime
That's how we livin in the nineties
Yeah
It's a conspiracy
Yo Prodeje, tell us about the phone call you got
[VERSE 1: Prodeje]
I got a call this morning, damn, my boys got popped
Gaffled up by a federal cop
It's a shame we gotta struggle to eat, bein the black sheep
And all the time be aware of white sheets
Laws can't do me none but it's everyday
The police, man, break laws and they walk away
Treatin brothers like suckers
But the brothers with gats are not dumb muthafuckas
Trackin us down becomes an iminent spray-down
The system is bound to keep us wearin a cold frown
They say they put on the beanies and tried to gaffle D
The homie V saw it comin and set the Uzi free
They didn't say they were cops, but they got a case
Locked up V and left D layin on his face
Now who plays fool, it was a set-up
No badge was shown and they were plannin from the get-up
To fade a jack move and kill em
It was a gangster move and still the suckers tryin to give him
Time but yo, I'm droppin the dime, and in the city streets
There's no protectin my brothers, it's a conspiracy
[Chuck D] (CIA, FBI, all they tell us is lies)
Yeah
It's a conspiracy
Yo Havikk, tell us what you heard
[VERSE 2: Havikk]
Yeah, they hit the homies with a beanie on they damn face
Blasted D cause V pulled a Uzi
Thinkin drugs, but fool, you didn't find none
You law-breaking muthafuckas need to be hung
Cause the law protects your punk asses
My homie face down makes me see caskets
With blue-suited muthafuckas lyin in em
Cause everytime you see a black you wanna give him
Hell, the ghetto is hell, but you bring more
The devil's in a uniform, fuck it, it's all out war
The only friend to a brother is a AK
As of now, muthafucka, this is judgement day
Cause you roll through our hood and straight jack a nigga
Put your knee in our back and cock your fuckin trigger
My homie D is lyin off in ICU
Cause the feds tried to play him like a prostitute
You couldn't yell police, I call it railroad
You fight crime with crime to see a black fold
You took his cars, you try to take his life, see
Now you're tryin to take him down for conspiracy
[Chuck D] (CIA, FBI, all they tell us is lies)
Yeah
It's a conspiracy
[VERSE 3: Luva Gee]
Every day is a trip, I see em sweatin brothers constantly
We need to blow em to shit cause it's easily
Done, a diss to the fall guy
I'm still equal to you though I'm brown and I get by
( ? ) sometime I'm not but I am to you
So I'm degraded and stomped by a cop, you
Cause he wears the badge and gun and has authority
And I'm a brother so I'm called minority
The white man bleeds like the black man
If the system persists we gonna all be dead men
Cause when you comin and sweatin us with the dirty shit
We get to smokin your asses like it's some chicken shit
I got psychotic when I heard how the homie fell
Didn't find shit but insist they gotta give him hell
Save the bull, the shit, I'm finna come off
I stick the gun in your ass so don't you even cough
Fuck the feds, the cops, they ain't shit
Breakin a law and fakin life as legit
The brown, the white, it ain't nothin but a color
But every day you're tryin to hang a brother
[Chuck D] (CIA, FBI, all they tell us is lies)
Yeah
It's a conspiracy
Yeah, this Havoc the Mouthpiece from the SCC
I got a few things to say about this fucked up ass conspiracy
When the drug agency, the law enforcement and the sheriffs is comin in with beanies
Shootin us up and doin whatever the fuck they wanna do to us
But the SCC ain't goin out like that
We gon' say what the fuck we wanna say, when we wanna say it and how we wanna say it
So for all you who don't like it, then fuck y'all
[YOUNG PROD:]
Nigga what (jungle)
South Central
You have heard of that
Real shit, nigga (jungle)
That Cartel shit (Cartel - jungle)
I jumped in this - I handle business
You can't get rid of this
You feelin' this?
Nigga what ?!
It's something about bein' affiliated
Hate this, hate it
I peep him while I'm fade it - laid back, cock the gage
React the blaze in
Let him feel like hot buck shots - close range
Keep it movin' all, nigga stop
Money got this dummies, gunnin' at me, eyes close
Bitch's runnin' his mouth too much, he wanna High Roll
I know only I know, where the dough?
Hold the heat, blast with the dome, lay him low
Nigga know how to do that deal
Vietnam warfare like the Staples but take you there
Should to middle with the South Central blocks
Where everybody snorts herb, shoot up and smoke up rocks
But that's home
And I'll - roam in till I'm gone
In a zone from them herb clouds comin' straight out the bone
Welcome to the concrete jungle
Where money more important than living your life humble
Where bitches treat you like gumbo
And niggas steady tryin' to gun you
cause they hate it what you stand for
It's the concrete jungle...
[YOUNG PROD:]
Full Clipp quick to pull it
Pull out them verbalize bullets
Hollow points that ain't got to, what I'm gonna pull it?
The concrete jungle where niggas rumble over weak raid
Tear it up, park
A hollow hold through your heart
It's the live death become ???
Pourin' 40 dips around, that's won't you gon' be
That you realize I wanna baptize in your chest with some of this
And some of these
All of these niggas nuthin' but cheese
[PRODEJE:]
...bastards
Niggas transformer like a mixture
I'm comin' way to punk you like the quickster
Pop you like a blister
Load the hollow heads give 'em to ya
Treat you like my [??????] do ya
The homie [??????] to ya
But I'ma run through you, want smoke
You'll recognize the real before you hit the front door
You fuckin' with the Prodigal
By elevatin' game got ya
Through a wick laugh and still cocked ya
Welcome to the concrete jungle
Where money more important than living your life humble
Where bitches treat you like gumbo
And niggas steady tryin' to gun you
cause they hate it what you stand for
It's the concrete jungle...
[PRODEJE:]
You make [??????] me hit the back door
Duck the floor hits
Hit the school gates in a hurry
Lay my mom [????]
But now I'm ghetto fab in a half
Count low money with my style
Niggas make me laugh
But me and Young Prod knows the math
Make 'em bow down, feel the wrath
Acts 'em like the craft
Makin' nigga's tongue hit the floor
The S.C. through the gun smoke
We doin' for the paid and the ???
That sucker-ass nigga ain't a playas
We livin' got the game for the haters
Stompin' in my black Chucks
Servin' cavi to the clucks
For me [???] the bumper fuck
Having bad look nigga
Sticky fingers all in my twist
Cause they use the nigga like this
I bring you how I love it
Gangsta Prod nigga how you love it
This shit to make the other niggas [????]
Welcome to the concrete jungle
Where money more important than living your life humble
Where bitches treat you like gumbo
And niggas steady tryin' to gun you
cause they hate it what you stand for
[VERSE 1: Havikk the Rhime Son]
I'm high-class, wife got the mink and [?]
I'm drinkin Dom Perrignon bathtub all gold
Roll a Lexus with the Rolex on my neck, it's
Caviar, bubblebaths, hoes wanna sex this
Million dollar gee cause they all wanna hang
Givin up that putang cause all they see is the fame
Or just riches, they just bitches, unlike snitches
Penetration's what they get, ass stitches
A stretch-limo on the all-gold Daytons
Playa-hatin me is like hangin out with Satan
I own my own jet so I can swerve to Thaiti, me and my lady
And it's a trip how me and my homies been hangin lately
I own a mansion, I'm stackin chips
I'm eatin lobbster and crab leavin bigger tips
'95 Explorer hittin corners on my cellular bent
In my jaccuzzi, watchin a movie, my life is heaven-sent
[CHORUS: L.V.]
This is the life that I want to live
Can't let nobody stop me
Dom Perrignon, a little Alizé
It's gon' be on, can't you see?
Ladies on the left, ladies on the right
This game is so exciting
But it's to be sold and not to be told
So grab your cabbage, homie
[VERSE 2: Prode'je]
I live the lifestyles of the ganster rich and the famous
Mister Playa Playa, 13 hoes with mo' anus
A black urban as I bounce in my suburban
Lookin superb off o-x and I'm swervin
So much bucks the hoes call me Scrooge McDuck
I make the tricks quack to get a crack at the sack
The '86 Lac in the back
The sanitary white Lex-o 17 inch [?]
And I dare you to try to get with this
I take baths in Moët and dry off with $1000 bills
Still I invest in the hood
Performin c's on the block
Make the homies clock a knot
And it don't stop
My lifestyle's not petty, I rock steady
Paid in full to get the pull
And I should buy up the whole hood
Then we could live lavish with the cabbage
[CHORUS]
[VERSE 3: Havikk the Rhime Son]
I flew overseas just so I could see
Prod and Mouthpiece put it down in italy
And the hood had me feelin the pain with strain
But things changed, now I'm the million dollar mane
[Prode'je]
Inhale, pistol grip on the hip, ten g's in the pocket
Jump out the 454 and I locks it
Eye-sockets upon my pocket
Raise the pistol grip off my hip and unlocks it
[Rhime Son]
I Rhime Son rollin a cherry-black Impala
And I ought to buy a blue, one a true one
1996 hear the cheer from the front to the rear
With caviar dreams in yo ear
[Prode'je]
And I hear all the rumours that's bein spreaded
About where we headed and who we goes to bed with
Even though I'm livin this million dollar life
You better think twice before you get sliced
[Rhimeson]
Can I roll with you?
[Prode'je]
Nigga, what can I do?
When I still seem
To day-dream and fiend for green
Cause one plus two, broke muthafuckas, don't equals naythin
In a buck-fortyfive's what I'm waitin
[Rhimeson]
So now it's time for me to grab the strap
And put you in a sleeper eternally
That's what my psychic's tellin me
So now I'm ridin to the sun, and I
Know it ain't shit for me to lose...
[Prode'je] ...So I
Asked the big homie to put it down for me
When I was down you been around for me
Give me nine ounces, and count this stackola
That I can rack for ya
[Rhimeson]
For sho', yo ride, as I slide to Kansas City
Not lookin for hoes that shake no titties
But to drop off ki's and collect my g's
My fees for this job is three g's
[Prode'je]
Let's see if I can get it crackin for me
[Prode'je]
Can I roll with you?
[Rhimeson]
Nigga, what can I do
For you, now that it's really on and poppin?
[Prode'je]
Went to the city and my big homies is ???
With my 3 g's, can I get it crackin for me?
I always heard that bullets turn curves like Nike stripes
So one silent night they take flights to put out headlights
[Rhimeson]
Turn to your skull where your brains was
Game recognize game, can you dig it?
I did it, stackin to see what's happenin
Loop - there it is, I'm handlin my biz
[Prode'je]
With this I'm buyin powdered shit
So I can rock it up and make it whoop, the loot
Chop it into doves to serve em love like Herbie
This whooped-up lley gon' freeze they brains like slurpies
[Rhimeson]
But I'm tryin to kick back, relax and stack a meal ticket
Motivation is good preparation, so I rolls with it
(In a '86 coupe) in a '85 cutlass
2 O.G.'s on fo' d's, and we're comin
[Rhimeson]
Nigga, what's happenin?
Shall we get to scrappin or cappin?
A king-size .44 magnum to tag em
[Prode'je]
Well, I guess we'll get into some gangster shit
I let my strap holler at your chest while Mouthpiece holler at your bitch
[Rhimeson]
And I'm checkin eyes, so you best to recognize
When I let these bullets fly, from this heat you gon' die
[Prode'je]
Right, you muthafuckas wanna see the gangstas
I'm comin from the squad, I ain't no peace treaty banger
[Young Prod]
I was born in the hood and raised, I stayed in the hood, that's real
From emptyin my clip, from dumpin on niggas, I'm pistol-whippin your grill
But still you feel me in attempts to pull my card
I'm rollin a fo' do', Eagle out the window, dumpin on y'all
[Rhimeson]
And all I did was struggle for my land
And I'm too much of a gee to die by another man
[Prode'je]
And understand you gotta bury me, you won't worry me
[Intro]
I pled allegiance to the muthafuckin streets of South Central
And for the gangsta shit for which is there
7 criminals under guard with a fuckin A-K
For no justice is served
So it's spray-day
N gatz we trust muthafuckas
[Havoc]
19-19-199 muthafuckin 3
Yeah on your muthafuckin ass nigga
Takin 'em to the other muthafuckin level nigga
To you PROD'
[Prodeje]
I'm from a hood where the niggas never fuck around
They kick your muthafuckin ass if you try to clown
The Cartel got the moves of a muthafuckin gangsta
So run up and get bankrupt
I tried to flip [?] my last shit
But other brothers started trippin on my click bitch
And you know I don't play that
Homies doin drive-byes for the payback
Yeah, you didn't think I knew my shit yes
You never saw me
And figured I was fakin on the G-ness
But bring it on and I'ma flip your monkey ass into a coma
With shitty-ass drawers all on ya
[?] in tha 9-3
Rollin deep as the figure hoes cock on the one way
Comin up for a rowdy
Slangin these thangs cause the nigga live foully
Snipin one time from my roof cause I hate parks pigs
On the slap pullin off [?]
One time for a O.G.
The 87's gettin down with the S.C.
90's, 60's break peace
East Coast and the block G's, Hoover Crips and the 40's
School Yard, Shotgun, Averline too
Won't sleep on the S.C.C. crew
And if the D.L.'s, Pueblos and Nic's wanna choose this
The Bounty Hunters and the Roose, bitch
Wanna rock with the show-no
Let 'em know South Central jumpin off with a new touch
The Cartel still funky
Kickin more ass than a pissed-off donkey
All about the truece if you ain't down nigga shut the fuck up and listen
And let a true nigga keep pinchin
Rhymes on the real while you weak-weaks drop like a pebble
We take it to another damn level
[Chorus]
Bring it on, bring it on, we take it to the other level
Bring it on, bring it on, muthafucka
[Havikk]
Locs still rollin deep niggaro so here we go
Crease the khakis hit the muthafuckin Figuero
I'm from a city muthafuckas better bring it on
And mafiatic muthafuckas get the clown on
Cause that gangsta rhyme has got you goin in circles
The Grape Street spoke purple
Chillin in the hood with the 90's
The Front Streets, Back Streets and the 30's
Santanas got the shit muthafuckas can't fuck with
So in the Kitchen Roads yo it's all about truece bitch
Hoes jock cause I'm jockable
Try to ride the Havikkal dick but my dick's not ridable
P.J.'s, 43's don't trip, comin G cool
Keep a glock for a dumb fool
The 64's drop low
The Fruit Town Villains and the Swans actin loc'd
Long Beach, Main Street, ????????, Inglewood and don't forget Compton
Tragniew, they keep stompin
S.C.C. bail deep, 18's get they mob on
The Broadways don't sleep homes
Kelly Park, Lime Hood be down with the real shit
And Tree Top don't play bitch
And if you figure I'm a so-so
Bring your ass to my hood: 92nd Street in Figuero
In the hood's packed Glocks
Swans gettin licked on the Compton blocks
99's down for the kill, one time muthafuckers can't creep
83'll put that ass on sleep
The 87 gangstas, the West Coast headbangers
East Side wallstreet slangers
And Jordan Downs wanna rock with my crew
Let's bring the shit together with the red and the blue (peace)
Cause Lantana, Atlantic Drivers breakin niggas off quick G
They gettin funky with the S.C.
[Chorus x3]
[Havikk]
Muthafuckin Rhimeson is here
And I wanna say peace to all the Crips and Bloods all over the muthafuckin world
[Prodeje]
All you muthafuckas down with the truece
All the Ese's, all the muthafuckin Cholos down with South Central
[Havoc]
To all you true ass gangstas, stay together
Cause the S.C.C. has got peace and love for ya
[Havikk]
Yeah I wanna give a shout to the Front Street, the Back Street,
The Bluegate Mafia and the Hustler Nation
Peace out from the Murder Squad
[DJ Gripp]
Straight out
[Intro]
Westside
East, to the fuckin South
Gangstas
[Verse 1]
Hoo-bangin like a G, ready to ride and regulate it all
Dippin is essential in the C. when I mad-dog
The khakis stay creased and we mob like the nazis
2 niggas are puttin it down, call us the twin John Gottis
See hoes on the dick and the hoes are ready to ride
But I don't see nothing wrong, so I hit and shake the spot
G's from the campus leavin a sample of pure funk
From the trunk to the ear as the 12 vegas bump
I make your head nod as we slide block to block, loc'
Chronic got me gone, crack the window to release the smoke
Shit, Rhimeson is seein demons
Cut the braids, hoes still fiendin for the semen and I'm schemin
It's action-packed shit for your whole fuckin clique
West Coast G's ain't the niggas to be fuckin with
S.C. Cartel dwells in the slums slangin crumbs
Test your vest, if you will I let this Nine steel hum
BiAtch
[Chorus]
All day everyday I don't give a fuck
Long as I got on my Khakis, T-shirt and Chucks
Rollin through L.A., what do I see ?
A gang of mo' niggas dressed just like me
All day everyday I don't give a fuck
Long as I got on my Khakis, T-shirt and Chucks
Rollin through CHICAGO, what do I see ?
A gang of mo' niggas dressed just like me
[Verse 2]
Rollin in a low-low but I'm not solo
My heat is a H.K., underlay the plus A
Cappin your ass quicker than a G
So that's who I rolls with when I'm twistin D's
My dress code's casual, you know the routine
Khakis, T-shirt and Chucks lookin hella clean
My low-low's wet, so what's next nigga
I can hit a switch and make you wreck nigga
Fuckin with a young vet nigga
Ain't nuthin goin on but the gangsta
South Central's finest, Murder Squad's finest
Try to take my low-low, I be seein 24 low-low
With a L, that's on my baby girl
You hear these bullets hummin, comin atcha
They'll snatch ya, caught up in a rapture
Fuckin with me the O.G. from the S.C., swap meet dweller
Quick to pull the heat in your cellar
[Chorus]
All day everyday I don't give a fuck
Long as I got on my Khakis, T-shirt and Chucks
Rollin through ATLANTA, what do I see ?
A gang of mo' niggas dressed just like me
All day everyday I don't give a fuck
Long as I got on my Khakis, T-shirt and Chucks
Rollin through ST.LOUIS, what do I see ?
A gang of mo' niggas dressed just like me
[Verse 3]
Ta-dow! How you like me now
As I skate in a rag 8 with Mc Eiht
Collectin stripes, dumpin all night
We too tight as we ride, slide
With the heat on my side
A .45'll knock your ass closer to the sky
Nigga you best to break fast like juice
Lettin 32 loose from the carbon deuce-deuce
Fuck a truece, 'cause when I go y'all gots to bury me
In my Chuck T's, Khakis and B.V.T.
Y'all feelin me, still a G
Cold drop the four and roll to the store for 'gnac
I gets bent like that
Rata-tat-tat from Mac 10's, hit the corner and spin
On them D's, yellin: 'Fuck you G, nigga this's S.C.C.'
We regulates the S.C., I puts it down for C.C.
With baby Nine next to me fool, and when we dump
We're head-huntin for punks, so you better try
To play rug and lie
[Chorus]
All day everyday I don't give a fuck
Long as I got on my Khakis, T-shirt and Chucks
Rollin through TEXAS, what do I see ?
A gang of mo' niggas dressed just like me
All day everyday I don't give a fuck
Long as I got on my Khakis, T-shirt and Chucks
Rollin through OAKLAND, what do I see ?
A gang of mo' niggas dressed just like me
All day everyday I don't give a fuck
Long as I got on my Khakis, T-shirt and Chucks
Rollin through ILLTOWN, what do I see ?
A gang of mo' niggas dressed just like me
All day everyday I don't give a fuck
Long as I got on my Khakis, T-shirt and Chucks
Rollin through MACKTOWN, what do I see ?
A gang of mo' niggas dressed just like me
All day everyday I don't give a fuck
Long as I got on my Khakis, T-shirt and Chucks
All over the WESTCOAST, what do I see ?
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