| Sunny days and palm trees first come to mind
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| Second’s the hungry hustlers who work hard and grind
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| Women with Hollywood dreams who thirst for they time
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| They see a baller and they be the first ones in line
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| That’s Cali for ya, like my cousin Golden say
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| Where fly women and fly rides is always on display
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| Get it poppin' dog, you know what we say
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| People here to strike it rich so we call it the Golden State
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| But as fools go, sometimes, man be hesitant
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| From mountains to the shorelines, all my Cali residents
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| Are not to be slept on, gang signs repped hard
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| Lights cops carry guns that’ll pierce Teflon
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| From 6−2-6 to the 8−0-5
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| To the bay where the houses is stacked in the hillside, it’s live
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| Whenever I bust, I hold pride
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| Trek Life, Inverse reppin' Cali worldwide, uh, uh
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| So high that I touch the sky
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| Gonna put my faith in you
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| 'Til the day that I say goodbye
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| Ain’t never gonna say goodbye
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| Want to put my faith in you
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| 'Til the day that I die and touch the sky
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| Straight outta Cali, birthplace of the gang culture
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| Where devils and angels stay on the same shoulder
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| And you gotta get high just to stay sober
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| Tomorrow’s another name for a hangover
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| And cops find ways to hurt you
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| But hypocrisy is the homage vice pays to virtue
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| When the light fades the nice face’ll hurt you
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| Everywhere the grounds round, sky shades of purple
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| A beautiful night, the sight of the sunset
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| The gift and price of environments unkept
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| They say that pioneers come west
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| But this where we from, now we the only ones left
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| Unicas personas que ayudan con la unidad
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| Y nunca dan basura a ninguna de la publica
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| Inverse la futura de la musica
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| Encontrando toda la locura y la usura
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| Fo sho rest of my days
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| If you ain’t know, it’s that dirty south
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| Mixed together with the Golden State
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| Fo sho rest of my days
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| If you ain’t know, it’s that dirty south
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| Mixed together with the Golden State
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| Fo sho
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| Now everybody wanna holla 'bout the west is back
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| But the left coast never really left, in fact
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| Just relax, I’ll take you to the dock of the bay
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| Knockin' Pac and some Dre
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| Swervin' down the block in L. A
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| Cause I spit so deadly
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| And it hit so heavy
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| To ya face like the bass from a 64 Chevy
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| Cruisin' down the street with my grip so steady
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| On the wheel, if I try to turn my wrist won’t let me
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| Ready, go, it’s tob and yours truly
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| Scary how we got the west craven like a horror movie
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| Reppin' Cali to the end, that’s my sworn duty
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| Turn the volume hella high and let the music pour through me
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| Golden State homie, born and raised
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| Stayin' faithful to them warm California days
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| Some dudes ain’t reppin' I ain’t sayin' no names
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| CunninLynguists, Inverse, we ain’t playin' no games, c’mon |