Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Los Angeles Daze, artist - People Under The Stairs. Album song The Next Step, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 25.10.1999
Record label: Om
Song language: English
Los Angeles Daze |
| Check it… People Under The Stairs… Double K… |
| Thes One… |
| Putting it down… the way it should be… |
| For two… |
| The way it should’ve been… |
| L.A. style… |
| We gonna do it… |
| The West style… |
| Me and Thes… |
| Hip-hop… |
| You… Two, one… |
| For everybody… |
| Ask why and we’re be so while… |
| ‘Cause I’m rough and I’m tough… |
| In a b-boy stance… and I come from L.A. (x2… then scratched together) |
| Crescent Heights city, yeah, that’s where I’m from |
| A gang of wild-ass niggas that don’t back down to run |
| And supposed to perpetrate on bustas that we putting it down |
| These so-called L.A. fools that ain’t nowhere to be found |
| I see you throwing up the «W,» but yo, I’m here to trouble you |
| Of what you listening to-1−3, and that’s 3−1-0, not 3−1-3, so get it right… |
| Bust it… yo, we makin' dope like Hoover and Pico, move slow |
| Be polite and everything’ll be alright, despite what other niggas say |
| Yo, this where it at, them other West Coast faggots, yo, where they at? |
| Word to MC Ren, I showed them people that you wack |
| Peace to the real crews defacing walls on backstreets |
| In the city of set, porch, halls, and swap meets |
| From the school of hard knocks, the generation passed down |
| Kaiser Permanente, yo, that’s where I was found |
| In the middle of the funk era, 'fros and dashikis |
| Pops was putting it down, chilling at the speakeasy |
| Now I’m posting at Unity with the b-boy stance (word!) |
| Take a glance and keep walking, yo, you know who it is |
| I’m from the motherfucking hardest-working group in show biz |
| If your shit ain’t humping right, don’t even bring it this way |
| You get booed off the stage, leaving town the next day |
| Telling your boys, «It is aight, better luck next time |
| The only thing that was cool: the weed, women, and sunshine» |
| Forgot to look under the stairs, yo, much more to boast about |
| Trying to diss and get that ass knocked out |
| Thes born in South America, moved to South Bay |
| Run with a crew from Mid-City, that’s where I stay |
| I’m from L.A., always have been, and always will be capitol |
| The sprawled up piece stands out like palm trees |
| Next to pine trees, blowing in the Santa Ana breeze |
| My DJ’s got fame, underground Rick Dees |
| I am MC, so bring in funk in five minutes |
| I jam like the 110 in the ‘84 Olympics |
| Keep the rhyme moving like the Unity location |
| Rap has been my vocation |
| Since before the Japanese owned the radio station |
| That’s why they Fired Jay Thomas |
| I keep it fattened like the llama, yo, I promise |
| Never stop, never change, like the price at Dodger Stadium |
| I blow up, rock free shows at the Palladium |
| Afterwards, the crew I’m taking ‘em to Tommy’s Burgers |
| Gotta be for every Los Angelino Murder |
| A rhyme for every burglar, Thes a well-worder |
| It comes together in a freeway like East LA merger |
| That means you’ll get no pay, but I urge you |
| Keep ya eye on L.A. like Chuck Henry, word |
| You heard of someone better? |
| Send ‘em our way |
| He get done the L.A. Way, the drive-by way… |
| ‘Cause I’m rough and I’m tough… |
| In a b-boy stance… and I come from L.A. (all scratched together) |
| Check it… everyone in my town think they got flows |
| Thes serve more wack MCs than waitresses at Roscoe’s |
| You know me, at the graveyard shift, gettin spliffed |
| We can take it downtown like Figueroa and 5th |
| And after that, I’m heading up to El Cholo for some dinner |
| Bustin' through the inner-city underground like the red line |
| Thinner than the line at car wash in El Niño |
| That’s you son, see no time in this locale |
| Underground, down, talking ‘bout, «Yo, I’m keepin it real!» |
| I’m coming with the Walkman and tapes, not steel |
| Not a .22, .45, but a 9, Double O, 6 |
| Put it on your letter to the better, lick a stamp, send it |
| And mail a letter to Thes, L.A. legend like Fernando Valenzuela |
| Yes, he never ran in a battle, yes |
| He be smoking beedis, watching the sun set from Sunset |
| Ay-yo, we got rappers walking around, shook like earthquakes |
| Blame it on San Andreas, it was a fault you had to wait |
| To grab the steel, how you feel? |
| Ain’t even got skills to represent |
| The City of Angels, my whole team is heaven sent |
| Getting shit accomplished, yo, check the way we rock this |
| Like the Raiders in ‘88, fool, you can’t stop us |
| Like gang-banging, this shit’ll be banging for centuries |
| Imperial groups spreading like bank robberies |
| Over the Southland, we put the funk in your trunk |
| To bump hard, like 808s, sorry you had to wait |
| But we was digging in the crates, no fear, it’s here |
| Shady like MacArthur Park, don’t get caught after dark |
| Might never come back, see, sometimes it’s like that |
| Some niggas carry a gat, some niggas use their head |
| But the smartest of the smartest’ll still come out dead |
| It’s true it ain’t where you’re from, it’s where you’re at |
| But you’ll still get caught up wearing the wrong colored-hat |
| And on that note, everybody shut the fuck up and kick it |
| Spliffted, whatever you do, make sure you don’t miss it |
| ‘Cause we coming like the end, yo, it’s just about wax |
| So watch out, we bringing bad luck like Wilshire and Fairfax |
| And it’s just like that, so check it out… |
| ‘Cause I’m rough and I’m tough… |
| In a b-boy stance… and I come from L.A. (all scratched together) |
| «Fred, where you from?» |
| «L.A.» |
| «Uh oh, uh oh! |
| Uh oh! |
| Ask him where he started from…» |
| California… (repeats) |