Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song That "G" Sh*t, artist - King Tee. Date of issue: 31.08.2006
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
That "G" Sh*t |
| 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 |