| On the rise like el Chapo
|
| These foos can’t see me like el Chapo
|
| From nothing to something like el Chapo
|
| They want me dead or alive like el Chapo
|
| I throw the West Side I’m like al rato
|
| Been wanted since before I hit my teenage
|
| Sharpening my skills ese look at what the streets made
|
| A criminal at a young age because I couldn’t behave
|
| A menace to society, is what my actions relay
|
| Used to be stuck in the hood, homies free base
|
| Now I got movie money, hundreds in the briefcase
|
| Used to be in stolen Honda civics, in the courts
|
| When I faced trial, the only time I prayed to the lord
|
| Coupl-couple homies shot in the face next to me
|
| Used to have street envy, way before I had jewelry
|
| Before I had these albums out, before I had these movies
|
| Used to hide in my closet in my dresser tec’s and uzi’s
|
| Excuse me, is your name Roberto Garcia?
|
| That was way before the L.A. fair jumped by maravilla
|
| Way before my first cletcha, way before my first wila
|
| Way before my first homie lost his vida
|
| On the rise like el Chapo
|
| These foos can’t see me like el Chapo
|
| From nothing to something like el Chapo
|
| They want me dead or alive like el Chapo
|
| I throw the West Side I’m like al rato
|
| For some reason, they wanna stop my cash flow
|
| Been on my humble game, not trying to be no asshole
|
| I pass those that grab those, like crabs in a bucket
|
| I remember posted on the block, I would tuck it
|
| And the cops used to hit my pad, nothing to discuss
|
| I remember sergeant Johnson telling Lopez, go ahead cuff em
|
| I remember them raiding, hiding stress in the oven
|
| Stashing dope in the ceilings, even in my moms stuff
|
| And I had nowhere to run, living all in the streets
|
| The P.D. |
| had my name on a A.P.B., an all points bulletin
|
| Cause I grew up as a hooligan, underestimated
|
| All this banging shit would throw me in
|
| Living life on the run wasn’t no fun, no food no soul
|
| With some dope and a gun
|
| Had to stay off the phone cause the landline was tapped
|
| No matter where I was, was strapped
|
| On the rise like el Chapo
|
| These foos can’t see me like el Chapo
|
| From nothing to something like el Chapo
|
| They want me dead or alive like el Chapo
|
| I throw the West Side I’m like al rato |