| Bigg Steele the Godfather
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| Ridin' shotgun with my homeboy, Mr. Criminal
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| Let’s make these bitch ass motherfuckers bow down to kiss the pinky ring
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| G. Malone in the buildin'
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| Ha ha ha ha ha ha
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| Yeah
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| That’s right, homie
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| It’s that new west coast shit
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| Now what you got right here
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| Is from Cash Money
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| Hi Power
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| Hoo Bangin'
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| S.J.C. |
| Entertainment
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| Crimelab
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| Collaboration, homie
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| Ha ha ha
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| Yeah
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| Hey Glasses
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| Let 'em know
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| Fuck one point seven
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| G. Malone still a criminal (Still)
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| A motherfuckin' rider like Capone steal a criminal (Yeah)
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| Talk that drug shit
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| I don’t ever speak in general
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| I’m talkin' sherm shit
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| Born a pro at mixing chemicals (Whoo!)
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| Switch hittin' god, I’m a lowride machine
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| Almost done with my deuce (That bitch is Southsider clean)
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| Yo, the Southsider clean?
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| From the roof to the feet (Damn)
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| Fuckin' Japs wanna buy it for whatever hit the street (Okay)
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| Only black rapper with the Latin respect
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| Cause I’m a real dope boy
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| With a Latin connect (Uh hun)
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| Plus I roll through patrol, and on my lap is a tech
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| Lookin' for pinche puto
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| Put the strap to your neck
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| BLAOW!
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| Why won’t you talk shit now (Hun?)
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| Pussy niggas kind of quiet
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| Won’t talk so loud (Damn)
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| Man, I’m good in any ese hood
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| Cause I’m a ride for Hi Power like the trece would
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| Nigga
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| Chorus: Mr. Criminal
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| I put four fingers up, two twisted with the thumbs cuff
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| Put them dubs up
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| You know what’s up
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| Four fingers up, two twisted with the thumbs cuff
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| Put them dubs up
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| You know what’s up
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| It’s all eyes on me
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| When I ride with heat
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| On the side of me
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| It’s all eyes on me
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| When I ride with heat
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| On the side of me
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| We don’t wear tight jeans, niggas dress 'em like women
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| We rock coke white tees, a sag and a denim
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| The game all twisted, rep a sag like bitches
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| I kick that G shit
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| Live and unscripted
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| Niggas stick to makin' flicks, reality ain’t shoot
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| Lames been reppin' the coke since nine deuce
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| I down with the Prez and that new west shit
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| Whoever don’t like it, bite this new west dick
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| Niggas can’t ban me
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| I’m a boss with minds
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| So their nigga can’t stop it when I push the line
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| Been down with Criminal since scandalous Thump
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| I could give a feez, nigga, 'bout you scandalous punks
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| Bitch niggas bow down, kiss the ring, let’s get it
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| Til ya lips turn blue like you’re L.A. fitted
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| You clowns ain’t no riders, gangbangin' on stage
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| Pull my dick up out my drawers, I bust a nut on your braids
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| Repeat Chorus
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| If I could spit fairy tales, Criminal issues the fact
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| Comin' up from the west southern side of the tracks
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| Not Glasses, but a Criminal got that Ryder Music
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| And them riders use it
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| Catch 'em ridin' to it
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| From the
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| Sursider Califas where them riders packin' 'em heaters
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| Cortez
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| Creased khakis, black Glocks and white beaters
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| Light green sticky
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| Rollin' down the 60
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| 110, 605, 101, come and get me
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| San Diego, Inland Empire
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| Los and Orange County
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| Knee deep in this California life is how you found me
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| Homies rollin' in them avalanches, you
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| Conned an alley
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| Stretched out ex-scourges
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| Ese, this is killer Cali
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| Home of N.W.A
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| Eazy E and 2Pac
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| Snoop Dogg, Dr. Dre, Dogg Pound and Mr. D.O.C
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| Elbows up
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| Side to side, the west coast pop lock
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| G. Malone
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| Bigg Steele
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| Criminal smokin' that Cali crops
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| Only the bombest
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| Rollin' with killers that’s quick to bomb shit
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| In every single Lakeside Barrio, it’s my accomplise
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| I’m comin' to stop shit
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| From a Latin perspective
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| Comin' up west, it’s cause these Latins homeboys
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| You gotta respect it
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| So I’m steppin' to the Next Episode
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| Since this is the Rise 2 Power, let the game be sold
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| Never fold, comin' up cold, cause of the knowledge I hold
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| Props to the homies locked up doin' time or on parole (Ha ha)
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| Yeah
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| And this a west coast thang
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| Worldwide vatos soakin' up this west coast game
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| Tourist come to California, fear these west coast gangs
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| Because these southern Cali streets are known to west coast bang
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| And it’s still Mr. Criminal
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| Still comin' original, still Hi Power’s general
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| Aimin' all off at your temple, you ain’t got no street credentials
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| Get the fuck up out of my face if you ain’t screamin' west coast
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| Blunt smoke comin' all out in my nose
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| In Cali, all off in them alleys, I roll
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| I’m born to roll, when I’m burnin' Vogue
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| Clock a nine millimeter back, let it go
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| Homie sunk, you would talk, like confederals
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| And is actin' like bitch homosexuals
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| Levas hate, I’m a gangsta, daddy stackin' paper
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| I believe, don’t get it, holmes
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| But still, I’m doin' my thang
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| I still got blue in my veins
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| In a beamer, off in a nine
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| In a Ranger, still, blue jeans in sag
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| Hi Power reckless, Hoo Bangin', Cash Money, two
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| Thousand eight
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| Ese, M-A-dub, blast for me |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The New West, artist - Mr. Criminal. Album song What the Streets Created, Pt. 3, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп