Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song The New West , by - Mr. Criminal. Release date: 15.09.2008
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
The New West |
| Bigg Steele the Godfather |
| Ridin' shotgun with my homeboy, Mr. Criminal |
| Let’s make these bitch ass motherfuckers bow down to kiss the pinky ring |
| G. Malone in the buildin' |
| Ha ha ha ha ha ha |
| Yeah |
| That’s right, homie |
| It’s that new west coast shit |
| Now what you got right here |
| Is from Cash Money |
| Hi Power |
| Hoo Bangin' |
| S.J.C. |
| Entertainment |
| Crimelab |
| Collaboration, homie |
| Ha ha ha |
| Yeah |
| Hey Glasses |
| Let 'em know |
| Fuck one point seven |
| G. Malone still a criminal (Still) |
| A motherfuckin' rider like Capone steal a criminal (Yeah) |
| Talk that drug shit |
| I don’t ever speak in general |
| I’m talkin' sherm shit |
| Born a pro at mixing chemicals (Whoo!) |
| Switch hittin' god, I’m a lowride machine |
| Almost done with my deuce (That bitch is Southsider clean) |
| Yo, the Southsider clean? |
| From the roof to the feet (Damn) |
| Fuckin' Japs wanna buy it for whatever hit the street (Okay) |
| Only black rapper with the Latin respect |
| Cause I’m a real dope boy |
| With a Latin connect (Uh hun) |
| Plus I roll through patrol, and on my lap is a tech |
| Lookin' for pinche puto |
| Put the strap to your neck |
| BLAOW! |
| Why won’t you talk shit now (Hun?) |
| Pussy niggas kind of quiet |
| Won’t talk so loud (Damn) |
| Man, I’m good in any ese hood |
| Cause I’m a ride for Hi Power like the trece would |
| Nigga |
| Chorus: Mr. Criminal |
| I put four fingers up, two twisted with the thumbs cuff |
| Put them dubs up |
| You know what’s up |
| Four fingers up, two twisted with the thumbs cuff |
| Put them dubs up |
| You know what’s up |
| It’s all eyes on me |
| When I ride with heat |
| On the side of me |
| It’s all eyes on me |
| When I ride with heat |
| On the side of me |
| We don’t wear tight jeans, niggas dress 'em like women |
| We rock coke white tees, a sag and a denim |
| The game all twisted, rep a sag like bitches |
| I kick that G shit |
| Live and unscripted |
| Niggas stick to makin' flicks, reality ain’t shoot |
| Lames been reppin' the coke since nine deuce |
| I down with the Prez and that new west shit |
| Whoever don’t like it, bite this new west dick |
| Niggas can’t ban me |
| I’m a boss with minds |
| So their nigga can’t stop it when I push the line |
| Been down with Criminal since scandalous Thump |
| I could give a feez, nigga, 'bout you scandalous punks |
| Bitch niggas bow down, kiss the ring, let’s get it |
| Til ya lips turn blue like you’re L.A. fitted |
| You clowns ain’t no riders, gangbangin' on stage |
| Pull my dick up out my drawers, I bust a nut on your braids |
| Repeat Chorus |
| If I could spit fairy tales, Criminal issues the fact |
| Comin' up from the west southern side of the tracks |
| Not Glasses, but a Criminal got that Ryder Music |
| And them riders use it |
| Catch 'em ridin' to it |
| From the |
| Sursider Califas where them riders packin' 'em heaters |
| Cortez |
| Creased khakis, black Glocks and white beaters |
| Light green sticky |
| Rollin' down the 60 |
| 110, 605, 101, come and get me |
| San Diego, Inland Empire |
| Los and Orange County |
| Knee deep in this California life is how you found me |
| Homies rollin' in them avalanches, you |
| Conned an alley |
| Stretched out ex-scourges |
| Ese, this is killer Cali |
| Home of N.W.A |
| Eazy E and 2Pac |
| Snoop Dogg, Dr. Dre, Dogg Pound and Mr. D.O.C |
| Elbows up |
| Side to side, the west coast pop lock |
| G. Malone |
| Bigg Steele |
| Criminal smokin' that Cali crops |
| Only the bombest |
| Rollin' with killers that’s quick to bomb shit |
| In every single Lakeside Barrio, it’s my accomplise |
| I’m comin' to stop shit |
| From a Latin perspective |
| Comin' up west, it’s cause these Latins homeboys |
| You gotta respect it |
| So I’m steppin' to the Next Episode |
| Since this is the Rise 2 Power, let the game be sold |
| Never fold, comin' up cold, cause of the knowledge I hold |
| Props to the homies locked up doin' time or on parole (Ha ha) |
| Yeah |
| And this a west coast thang |
| Worldwide vatos soakin' up this west coast game |
| Tourist come to California, fear these west coast gangs |
| Because these southern Cali streets are known to west coast bang |
| And it’s still Mr. Criminal |
| Still comin' original, still Hi Power’s general |
| Aimin' all off at your temple, you ain’t got no street credentials |
| Get the fuck up out of my face if you ain’t screamin' west coast |
| Blunt smoke comin' all out in my nose |
| In Cali, all off in them alleys, I roll |
| I’m born to roll, when I’m burnin' Vogue |
| Clock a nine millimeter back, let it go |
| Homie sunk, you would talk, like confederals |
| And is actin' like bitch homosexuals |
| Levas hate, I’m a gangsta, daddy stackin' paper |
| I believe, don’t get it, holmes |
| But still, I’m doin' my thang |
| I still got blue in my veins |
| In a beamer, off in a nine |
| In a Ranger, still, blue jeans in sag |
| Hi Power reckless, Hoo Bangin', Cash Money, two |
| Thousand eight |
| Ese, M-A-dub, blast for me |