| Ayo, crusin' down Western with them colourful hats
|
| Gold and that black such a lovable match
|
| The rap huxtable, comfy like bubbles and baths
|
| Wasn’t fucking with the putting brown bubbles in bags
|
| I’m from the West, my flag got them brown bear on it
|
| Sagged and rocked rags when my folks ain’t condone it
|
| When the folks in the stones was opponents I was postin' in my room
|
| Staring at the wall
|
| Wishing I was a baller, or a little bit taller
|
| Now I’m 6'4 I want a 64' Impala
|
| System serving the city
|
| City staining walls up
|
| Thinking bout my father when I look at that revolver
|
| Nigga, ayo
|
| Peeling off Crenshaw, Crippin' with Co$$
|
| KRIT up in the bulls, Beaner Bee (?) be the boss
|
| I’m trying not to floss the hog sauce or the Häagen-Dazs
|
| Hopping off, holla at me, had
|
| Mad personality, swag on
|
| Vernon Ave, Trojan on the Trojan cap
|
| Orange juice Simpson
|
| Imma murk that
|
| Circled back I seen her, she bendy, she kinda bad
|
| If she don’t know your boy tell her to hop in the back
|
| I keep the chrome strap under both seats like my og
|
| Cold streets put the heat back where it’s supposed to be
|
| Rollin' through the drive-in and we were loking
|
| My niggas wasn’t supposed to be back there
|
| The West, the west, the west
|
| Sitting on Slauson for the fish and the bread
|
| C’s on my head like the Cincinnati Reds
|
| Niggas know my business like them bitches is Feds
|
| I’m like Chauncey Billups niggas if I get to they head
|
| I called MED just to getcha some meds
|
| Co$$ fled, cough red, gangrene to the head
|
| Same thing to D-Nez (?)
|
| Now stranded on Western like a western with a
|
| Bold sweater yo, them niggas know majessas (?)
|
| Chicks was all pepper cuz she knew I’d sweat her
|
| If I was a regular
|
| But I’m a G I threw that letter up
|
| Cali’s a G too I met her once
|
| She told me when all them west Africans stay here, they cheddar up
|
| Gave her gold, it’s a child born, flesh and blood
|
| Called them Blu just to prove the west won |