Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Representing, artist - Lil' Rob. Date of issue: 25.07.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Representing |
| Yeah what’s happenin — wussup homes? |
| Yeah, it’s ese Lil Rob |
| Representin where I’m from homes |
| San Diego, C. A |
| That’s right… c’mon |
| I’m representin where I’m from San Diego, C. A |
| With my nine treys, vatos that duck the sunrays |
| Put 18 on my sleeves, eighty-five degrees |
| With the coastal breeze and got my cuete close to me |
| I park my ride, and jump outside |
| Roll up a joint, light it up and get high |
| Cause we get lit, bet on pits to get rich |
| They lock jaw, we stand by with break sticks |
| I walk through obstacles you might, find impossible |
| Unstoppable and lots of flavor like a popsicle |
| Brought up in the barrio, medicine man |
| Like Caminos from one ol' vato |
| The big bad Cali fast land where it’s sango weed |
| Smoke the grass and I don’t mean the lawn |
| I mean the bomb chron', only the best |
| Filled up my chest with the mota from the Southwest |
| Representin where I’m from — where I’m from |
| San Diego, C.A. |
| — all day |
| Ready or not here I come — here I come |
| So you vatos best stay out of my way — make way |
| I always try to stay crisp and clean |
| Keep my lowriders lookin mean |
| Homeboy you can read it on my sleeves |
| It say Lil Rob also known as Mr. 1218 |
| Ey let me at 'em let me get 'em hit 'em with a verse |
| Let me hit 'em with the truth homes cause that’s where it hurts |
| I tuck the crossbars under the skirt |
| You think I’m fuckin bad homeboy it’s gonna get worse |
| Still givin neighborhood parties, tumble between the chain link gates |
| Hit the keg, grab the mic and celebrate |
| Uno dos, uno dos, mic check one two |
| Sick like that hour in Tijuana, I’m sick like the flu |
| Tilt the brown bag, at the same time throw up the brown rag |
| In a brown rag, let it down and let the back drag |
| Until the back alley, la pare |
| It’s a little rough por chroma los, homey |
| Bien, peros construct like a |
| And when I bust, I bust my pistolero |
| Too much of a rush, I don’t mean like a tecato |
| Heavy gato, Lil Rob’s a sick vato |
| I love palmetas, que onda Linda, son grisa |
| When it comes to sex I’m triple X like my camisa |
| Whassup mija? |
| Como te llamas? |
| Make her hot like a blunt, try lay her down on the calmate |
| Vollada, nothin like a fine Me-xi-cana |
| Shakin, somebody open the ventana |
| Mira, it’s la vida makin mojidas |
| , see you when I see ya |
| I’m all for comin in often, runnin trippin |
| The six-three Impala felt like coppin somethin you popped |
| Off at the mouth but you ain’t poppin nothin |
| Why the fuck you vatos wanna be startin somethin? |
| I’m loco, I’m goin psycho, but I can’t let the mic go |
| I can’t let the mic go whoa, that was a typo |
| Sounds tight though homey done spit it again |
| I’m in it to win, the reason why I did it again |
| I’m representin |