| Once upon a time, before I had a seed
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| I was on the block with rocks and hella bags of weed
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| I’ve calmed down, used to live savagely
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| Hurt feelings, killings, a lot of tragedy
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| Once upon a time, I had everybody mad at me
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| Haters wanted to see them winning, rather me
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| Gradually, I started having cabbage, see
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| And only my real folks was glad to see me
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| MD, doggin' and doin' it
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| Staying true to the game, and never ruin it
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| You need nothin' else but me on the menu
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| It’s Crest shit, Dubee, continue
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| We went from cookin' and joogin' that crack sack
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| Strappin' a backpack to blappers that rat-tat
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| Let your boy state the pure facts
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| Ever since a nitwit, me and my niggas been wit' this
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| Runnin' wit', marksmen don’t miss
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| And this shit, got me to the point I can’t help but do my thang
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| Slang mills, chops with the Furl, spinnin' circles ‘round you lames
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| These cutthoat niggas came to snatch a stack of racks in flame
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| Snatchin' everything in the way, a punk rock gon' save
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| My work knock always, scrilla grit getta, sick nigga
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| Blappin' a chop four-clip spitta, go get your clique, nigga
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| I’m hollerin' ‘yo ho ho' with this pimp-a-lish heem
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| J. Diggs, tell these cats what I mean (What you mean?)
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| If you knows not who I’m kin to
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| Then you knows not what I been through
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| You knows about the Romp? |
| Then you knows what I be into
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| If you ain’t knowin' ‘bout Dre, you probably don’t know Coolie
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| Chances is you ain’t knowin' about Diggs, Dolla and Dubee
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| Double up like a doolie, I show you who my crew be
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| Run off in your neighborhood, Crestsiders make a movie
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| Put my gat where your ass at, face where my mask be
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| Gangsta ass nigga puttin' nothin' fuckin' past me
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| Got a question? |
| Better not ask me
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| Tuck you in my backseat
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| Leave you all muffled like a nigga ridin' wit' bad beat
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| It’s Diggs, dude, north side of the V
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| And brought the Unda Dogg, another nigga ridin' wit' me
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| Shit gettin' sticky, it’s very tricky how these streets’ll lock us up in this
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| game
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| For riches and fame, so bitches jock us, slangin' that ‘caine
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| Bodies get slain, hoping the cops don’t pop us, breaking through chains
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| All in the hood, ducking helicopters, hard to maintain
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| We gettin' chains, I keep them hater-stoppers, nickels and bows
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| For my foes, no love for baller blockers gettin' a grip
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| If we slip, then that’s the end of it
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| Crossed by a snitch, so now the Feds got wind of it
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| Taking for granted nothin' on this planet, I’m tryin' to get paid
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| Lawyer fees to manage just in case the police raid
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| Bitches come a dime a dozen, never tripped on hoes
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| You pussy-whipped on yours, that’s why you flipped on yours, nigga |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Crestside , by - Mac Dre. Song from the album Dre Day July 5th 1970, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп