| Only the strong can survive, Cali is where I reside
|
| Hustlers with flashy rides, bitches with big behinds
|
| Vigils, candle lights, artillery oversized
|
| The element of surprise, robberies, homicides
|
| I’m maney I’m mannish, I’m cuttin' up
|
| I’m havin' my dough or should I say pie crust?
|
| I never move slow 'cause I’m always in a rush
|
| You threaten me ho, I’m gonna have you touched up
|
| You think I won’t go my nigga? |
| Then try your luck
|
| We can go toe-to-toe and bet I fuck you up
|
| I got moulah, chalupa bust your medulla
|
| Never funk with a nigga that got gouda
|
| The everyday attitude of a Bay boy
|
| The wrong side of the bed I woke up today boy
|
| Will get on your head and split your toupee boy
|
| You let that bitch get in your ear just like an Android
|
| I be on one!
|
| Better do what I say right away
|
| I be on one!
|
| Don’t try to get in my way, I ain’t playin'
|
| I be on one!
|
| Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
|
| I be on one!
|
| Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
|
| I be on one!
|
| I be on one my nigga!
|
| All I think about is money, pussy and liquor
|
| Clientele and climbing, trying to get ten figures
|
| Try to wipe me out and I’m gonna get in your business
|
| I say what I say and mean what I say what I said
|
| When I get a speeding ticket, go to class I don’t pay it
|
| I’m a stingy motha fucka 'bout my chicken and bones
|
| White boy wasted, bowls and bongs
|
| Black boy faded, Backwoods and cones
|
| Heem and vodka, high as a drone
|
| I’ve been ballin' since a teen, on the scene, me and my team
|
| Soil living, hot water, cornbread and navy beans
|
| Beverly hillbilly, roosters, horses and goats
|
| Got family in the «The Boot», Louisiana got kin folks
|
| Bicoastal, not local, shop at Cavalli on Soho
|
| My pistol on split your tamale, G-27−40
|
| I be on one!
|
| Better do what I say right away
|
| I be on one!
|
| Don’t try to get in my way, I ain’t playin
|
| I be on one!
|
| Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
|
| I be on one!
|
| Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
|
| I be on one!
|
| 2−3-4−5, Northern California where this hustla resides
|
| Don’t say I didn’t warn ya, hella people done died
|
| Funkin' over corners, niggas losing their lives
|
| This world is small and it’s cold and it’s smirkish
|
| Lotta these suckas is bogus, losin their mind and their focus
|
| I don’t know if you noticed, I don’t know if you noticed
|
| The loudest talkers is always the brokest
|
| Roast you with the toasters, leave you stinking like halatosis
|
| Raising the rubble the struggle, gravel, the tar
|
| Where they play with them drums and pluck you like a guitar
|
| His bitch wanna cuddle, she tryna get us in trouble
|
| She tryna make us a item, she want us to be a couple
|
| I be on one!
|
| Better do what I say right away
|
| I be on one!
|
| Don’t try to get in my way, I ain’t playin
|
| I be on one!
|
| Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
|
| I be on one!
|
| Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
|
| I be on one! |