| And I’m a shoot you some getback
|
| So you can say
|
| «Baby Bash, yeah, he did that»
|
| That’s on my buds
|
| I always paid all my fronts
|
| And hell nah
|
| I don’t fuck with no scary punks
|
| Cause loose lips ain’t chips in the barrio
|
| Sometime, the grind
|
| Seem like a party though
|
| On the turf
|
| On the block
|
| In the cut, though
|
| Block monsters
|
| Don’t give a fuck, bro
|
| And I don’t even know
|
| Who be workin' for the piggies
|
| See, right now a day
|
| Everybody turn snitchy
|
| And they don’t give a damn 'bout the reprocussions
|
| Lost six homies
|
| And about twelve cousins
|
| Some from L. A
|
| And some from Bakersfield
|
| Some from the Bay
|
| And some from Mackaville
|
| Damn skippy on the jiffy
|
| Take it from a prophet
|
| Stay on your toes when you in the black market
|
| VAMONOS!
|
| When the cops hit your block, boy
|
| VAMONOS!
|
| When the heat, touch your street, boy
|
| VAMONOS!
|
| Hit the task, on your ass, boy
|
| VAMONOS!
|
| And we run so fast
|
| Repeat Chorus
|
| We vida locas where my homies be screamin', I see demons on
|
| Concrete (???), servin' clucks, cause they fiendin'
|
| I never leaving the pad without |
| Packing mi cuete
|
| Willin' to die for my block
|
| Let them cowards come get me
|
| Plus real pandieros
|
| From all sides love it
|
| Livin' this Merciless world
|
| So I put it on my stomach
|
| Pour out liquor for my homies who dead, but not forgotten
|
| California got
|
| Palms trees and beaches, but it’s still rotten
|
| Police corrupt, so who should I trust?
|
| Just me and some real motherfuckers who down to bust
|
| Gangstas
|
| Hustlers
|
| Thugs and dealers
|
| In the projects, gotta stay grimey and pack heaters
|
| Shoot the motherfucker cause the FED’s on the roof
|
| The type of shit
|
| I been singin' since 1992
|
| So vamonos, and blast him in the face
|
| So vamonos, we already catchin' a case
|
| Repeat Chorus Twice
|
| I sell nickels, dime, gwhomps, shades, halves and shoulders
|
| Til me and all my partners, sell nothin' but boulders
|
| Every two days, I must recop
|
| And bubble on the grind
|
| Until I pop
|
| I get the dope fiend money
|
| To pump my gas
|
| It’s five dollar bills when I wipe my ass
|
| I just hit a lick
|
| For real big fedi
|
| I need to get up out the game
|
| But still, I ain’t ready |
| I be hating how I’m livin'
|
| I’m knowing it’s wrong
|
| I know I need to listen to the name of the song
|
| But straightin' up
|
| Just wouldn’t be me
|
| I might not be in the pen
|
| But I wouldn’t be free
|
| All I do is spit nothin' but reality
|
| Jay Tee got that hustler mentality
|
| I’m in the streets, if you need it, mayne, just hit me
|
| Watch what I do, when the police try to get me
|
| Repeat Chorus Twice |