| I jumped out the blocks like ready! |
| set! |
| go!
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| Check all my traps and dodge to Fedco
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| I’m all up the mix like a fuckin collage
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| And out in the garage, is a Bentley Onage
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| With the brains blowed out, so the suns beaming
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| I got the jackers drooling and the hoes feinding
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| Since I’m Westside Connected I got a streets on hype
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| I got big deals, big skrill, big wheels, big pipes
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| Twenty-inches roll Ђ" goin’get these hoes
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| Picky hoes — wanna roll with my Negroes
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| Be a freak about it and I’m a see about it Speak about it, no bitch, I’m a be about it Who want some of this, West running this
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| Mack 10 with the playboy bunny bitch
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| She’s a dummy bitch — where the money pit?
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| You broke ass niggas can’t even stomach this
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| What that connect like? |
| Nigga three time felon.
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| Six-double-0 West selling, rich, rebellin'.
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| Throw it up; |
| hold it up, guns bust, four fingers up,
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| Two twisted in the middle with the thumb cuffed.
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| Chevy mashin', dipping the ass n’killin’a zaggin.
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| 44'mag'n and toe tagging
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| Dub the hood phantom and I’m in a blue phantom.
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| In front of the club, I’m valet, dumpin’a tall can of magnum, trick.
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| What is it like? |
| Tossing 'em hoes
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| And rolling on fools on them fo’s
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| Flossing 'em chains, we doing big thangs
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| And busting on punks at close range
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| This is the way us gangsta’s roll
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| Sit back and watch as it unfolds
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| Bitches and suckas done so cold
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| Ahhh! |
| This is the life we chose
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| Dope money and rapping shit I'm all with it And all I know is streets, so this is how I spit it Chicken hawk see a bird, and I gotta get it So if ya hood come up short, then I'd probably did |
| it and if your momma thick then I gotta hit it The Trojans gotta be a magnum for me to fit it If its sherm on a stick then I probably lit it The red beam is on your wig so I probably split it To all them bitches that |
| think they bootylicious
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| I think they nutritious- I think they do dishes
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| I make 'em three wishes — of takin’they pictures
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| And spending they riches- I fuck 'em they bitches
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| Ego-maniac, little homies call me brainiac
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| Ice Cube is an ass-hole, and it ain’t an act
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| So take a hit of that — and remember that
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| Where my motha-fuckin'niggas and my bitches at?
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| Tr-i-ick I’m W. C, the rider of the clique.
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| Like a dragon its nothin’but fire when I spit
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| And I can’t shake these ghetto ways
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| I street rich nigga eatin’a bag of lays
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| Some rubber bands some braids
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| From the turf for the sirens and ambulance
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| Where we keep the pistols smoking like Afghanistan
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| It’s the gangsta, the killa, the dope dealer
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| Back for more figgas-, so trick, bow down and pour the liquor, bitch!
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| What is it like? |
| Tossin 'em hos
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| And rollin’on fools on them vogues
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| Flossin''em chains, we doin’big thangs
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| And busting on punks at close range
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| This is the ways us gangsta’s roll
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| Sit back and watch as it unfolds
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| Bitches and suckas done so cold
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| Ahhh! |
| This is the life we chose
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| It’s plain to see you can’t change me Cause I’m a be Connected For Life
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| Yeah! |
| Westside Connect gang for life
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| Butch Cassidy, Manny Fresh you’re a fool for this b-boy
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| uh, uh, uh |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Connected For Life , by - Mack 10. Song from the album Bang Or Ball, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп