| Introducin' the Westside Strangler, bangin' with the fixtures
|
| Mashin in this hot Coupe De Ville with blue twisters
|
| I just got it waxed, now I’m true without a doubt
|
| Dippin down Alondra on my way to the south
|
| The big homie way better g, a whole ounce
|
| He said it wasn’t hot, I made him watch the back-bounce
|
| Ah, back in traffic, feelin like the last pimp
|
| Hit the three-wheel, made a left on Kemp
|
| I dropped that my old crib just to see it’s all good
|
| The little homies moved in the spot with Lil' Wood
|
| See, niggas this way don’t give a damn about you hoes
|
| We find real estate in the midst of robbin yo’s
|
| With Benzis and trucks, plenty cavi for the clucks
|
| Keep a eye on who’s who and muthafuck what’s what
|
| For all gees who got it poppin in they hood for the moment
|
| It’s the gangsta King T, show me love loc, cause I’ma speak on it
|
| Ah, that’s that G shit (mobbin' through your hood)
|
| Move on gangstas, move on
|
| Move on gangstas, move on
|
| Ah, that’s that G shit (mobbin' through your hood)
|
| Groove on hustlers, groove on
|
| Groove on hustlers, groove on
|
| Man, the night comes and a gangsta’s intuition
|
| I hops in my 'burban, limited edition
|
| I’m lookin for a Lakewood hoe, that’s my mission
|
| I’m through with fuckin Hawthorne tramps, they be snitchin
|
| What will it be, Pepper’s or that spot Paradise?
|
| They keep a flock of girls but you gotta dress nice
|
| Suckers, I’m a gee, I got some clocks I ain’t touched
|
| Feathered Borsalinos with Armani in my clutch
|
| Nigga what, raised by ballers, I’m legit
|
| And if you don’t believe, ask Freeway Rick
|
| You don’t believe Rick, well ask my homie Big Jess
|
| Or his brother Big Droop, OG’s, nothin less
|
| It’s many niggas drinkin that gangsta juice
|
| But I done seen none of y’all when it was time to truce
|
| And I was at Luda’s Park squashin' beef with opponents
|
| While your ass was at your mansion eatin pussy punk, speak on it
|
| Ah, that’s that G shit (mobbin' through your hood)
|
| Move on gangstas, move on
|
| Move on gangstas, move on
|
| Ah, that’s that G shit (mobbin' through your hood)
|
| Groove on hustlers, groove on
|
| Groove on hustlers, groove on
|
| These busters better recognize what’s comin
|
| Dancin on D’s with the Alpine humpin
|
| Every since the child knew the ways to live foul
|
| Now I bust rhymes like a cool criminal
|
| Alcoholic chronic-smokin niggas know the deal
|
| Gun-totin, mouth-tapin niggas know I’m real
|
| I represent the West to the fullest extent
|
| A Southern California Hub City resident
|
| Yes yes y’all, it’s not a secret no more
|
| I got lyrics out the ass and they all hardcore
|
| Like that, comin with that West Coast strap
|
| Guaranteed to civilize a nigga talkin smack
|
| What you wanna do us, do your dance like you do it
|
| This one’s for my people up in Texas, watch em screw it
|
| Tight conversation hits the speakers for the moment
|
| But if your ass can’t comprehend fool, speak on it
|
| Ah, that’s that G shit (mobbin' through your hood)
|
| Move on gangstas, move on
|
| Move on gangstas, move on
|
| Ah, that’s that G shit (mobbin' through your hood)
|
| Groove on hustlers, groove on
|
| Groove on hustlers, groove on |