Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Creepin', artist - Brownside. Date of issue: 04.10.2012
Song language: English
Creepin' |
| Kicking it, strap on my side and I’m so high |
| Thinking bout them putos that tried to do the drive-by |
| Creeping in the alley, ese this ain’t the valley |
| Cholos are deep in a fucking brown Caddie |
| Drop to the floor, a fucking four door |
| (There's some putos we jump) |
| Ese, they’re coming for more pedo |
| Watch real close as I level |
| His head to the seat, my cuete he hands me |
| Six feet deep is where this culo stays |
| Although in a coma for a couple of days, anyways |
| That’s what I see on 2−1 Street, where we meet in the big SC |
| South Central is lo que represento |
| The crazy ass Eastside is in your fucking mental |
| Lento, but harder than a motherfucker |
| Catch me on a bad day knocking out a clucker |
| Creepin' through my neighborhood |
| Cuete on my side, always up to no good |
| On the Eastside, where the balas fly |
| Home of true gangsters ese, I don’t lie |
| Now all you cholos know we gotta handle our streets |
| Always keeping trucha cuz the black and whites creep |
| All gotta pay dues, think it’s time to take a cruise |
| Pensando in my head, fuck them fools |
| They throw a rat on the fucking murder rap |
| Now it’s time for us to go on back |
| Simon, we’re the ones you putos can not stand |
| I’m coming to get you with a cuete in my hand |
| Damn there he goes, stop, I go, I caught his ass quick |
| Nada me duro puro, blu blu to his stomach I stuck |
| Two balas at first then one on top for luck |
| Fuck I gotta go, this puto needs no more |
| To make our escape we just drove away slow |
| We gotta handle ours, leaving scars |
| Q-Vo to the homies behind bars |
| As I light and hit the sherm stick |
| I sit back and think of doing crazy shit |
| So we roll, and it’s late at night |
| Got my little homie Sharp, and Wicked by my side |
| Rolling in the G-ride, headed out the East Side |
| Ahora en la noche some pendejo dies |
| Simon, it’s all a gang trip |
| If you’re in it and you know it say «you better not slip» |
| Crazy cholos don’t give a fuck |
| Simon, fuck the juras, my dick they can suck |
| Straight gang banging till the day I die |
| Senor Wes I’m innocent, I don’t lie |
| Big pantalones, creased down, t-shirts |
| Hitting it with the homies always putting in work |
| Sur, X-Tres is where the fuck I roam |
| Los Ángeles (East Side) is where I call my home |
| Enemigas try and fade, when we show up they run away |
| I guess they seen us coming with our guns ready to spray |
| You look like a bitch when you run from us |
| I know you know we got guns that bust |
| Plus you know I’ll peel your fucking cap |
| Didn’t catch you yesterday but I’ma get you off the map |
| So strap, cause they only way you’re lasting if you’re fucking blasting |
| Never recognize me cause I’m always masking on a mission |
| All the santos missing, then they shoot this fool and then start dissing |
| Display my motherfucking gangster’s way |
| Spit on his ass, chinga tu madre guey |
| Just like that, making putos disappear |
| Ya que, at least I’m still here |
| No fear, those huevotes and my Mexican Pride |
| Jump in the lowrider and cruise through my East Side |