Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Planet Los Angeles, artist - Conejo. Album song Fallen Angel, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 18.07.2005
Record label: Street Noize
Song language: English
Planet Los Angeles |
Live and direct from Planet Los Angeles |
Weed, pills, crack, coke, speed, heroin |
Anything you want I got your fix |
My eyes stay low, watch your back |
Critically acclaimed is all I claim |
Drug cartels wanna sell my name |
Homey serio, you get hooked like that |
Tidal wave coming at you about to sink your raft |
This is it, how the West was won |
Shaking down all the busters, my word is my bond |
In these cinematic streets kingpins and all |
Bake a broke ass vato wanna rob them all |
I’m on some deep shit if you have any doubts |
I’ma flood them with the obvious, my rocks and my clout |
I’ma reign supreme in your fatalist dream |
Biographical blueprint of a dope fiend scheme |
My voice distinct, I’m a lyrical marksman |
You run down my alley and my dogs start barking |
I said homey don’t try to cross mine |
No man has succeeded, find them dead on mine |
Everywhere I go it’s the Devil’s playground |
Ese vatos being caught, ese vatos being shot |
And that’s all going down while the city sleeps |
So they say, so they say |
Don’t believe what you hear |
Controversy has been predicted |
Unforeseen complications, the times are really wicked |
Guns blazing, I got work late |
My dogs hit it off, bitch vatos get sprayed |
Watch the caile, these some pit fights |
You get covered in beams by some infared murder lights |
What the fuck, you know the rules |
Ain’t no rules on the street, lame riders get fooled |
It be official, these circumstances |
Baby got no feria so she gave lap dances |
Spark joints laced with weed and coke |
I install deadly rhymes in the form of sand storms |
Gatos, ese extasy waits |
In the street corners for the underground tapes |
Urban chaos, it be the sickest |
Run around and one, I’ma put you on my hit list |
Slight careful with that axe dog |
You got the touch of death and you just don’t know it Nobody’s home when the feds come knocking que no Fuck the motherfucking pigs |
That’s right, watch out |
Step back homey, don’t wanna smack your ass |
With a steel desert eagle, rather blast your ass |
Vocabulary tight, you bite you die |
My method of accounting make the feria multiply |
Chin checking enemigas up and down the coast |
Kicking in real slow like the effects of dope |
Controlled substance copywritten in blood |
Fuck this dope fiend bitch, got her smoking my bud |
Now I’m back in the grave that you buried me in Ese out by twenty fifth ese commiting more sin |
Let’s get down so I can make you buckle |
Ain’t no rules in a fight so I grip brassknuckles |
Decision final, last round last bout |
Young ex-con ese flexing my clout |
Then I opened my eyes and I saw it all |
Now I stay paranoid like I’ve been hitting the pipe |
I know you vatos can’t comprehend the angle that I’m coming at you |
See I got camaradas that sit infront of Ice Castles all day |
Snorting their life away, my world is a ghetto |
Live and direct from Planet Los Angeles |
Los Angeles, Los Angeles |