| It’s like: straight from the city of sunshine and silicone
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| Even on the busiest streets, you still feel alone
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| Unless you’re repping a set or set to direct
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| A mill or millimeter’s how they measure respect
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| They say the weather is best, but sometimes it rains and
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| Sometimes it bleeds cause drugs line the veins of
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| All kinds of fiends, they all got the need
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| In the hills and the ghetto and what lies between
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| Got one life to lead, but two different faces
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| Prime real estate for the youthful and famous
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| Too many cops are abusive and racist
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| But white folks still staying glued to the matrix
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| Chicks drop stacks for rags on rodeo
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| Then they hit the strip to sniff some more yayo
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| Dudes on the street sipping forties like they’re
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| Drano
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| The city where the angel pawned his own halo
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| Let’s take a trip to the place that birthed me
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| Home of Roscoe’s and big game worthy
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| Los Angeles, I can’t love it enough
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| So no matter where I’m at, I put my w’s up
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| Now, I could spit a reference to different intersections
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| But that wouldn’t capture California in its essence
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| The asphalt is scalding beneath your chucks
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| Wherever we post up, there’s burrito trucks
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| And the traffic in the city turns the corner to a jukebox
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| Bumping ever genre from Foreigner to 2Pac
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| Peace to the homie selling
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| oranges
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| now he’s got a small fortune in his tubesocks
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| It’s where I learned to freestyle with ease and fluency
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| Used to hear people preach peace and unity
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| The women were an infinite spectrum of thickness
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| And greeted every increase in heat with nudity
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| Now I’m in the east with a dream and a tunnel vision
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| You gotta leave home to see home for what it isn’t
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| So some day, I’ll return like the sun arisen
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| And on my mama’s mama, I hope that nothing’s different
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| Let’s take a trip to the place that birthed me
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| Home of Roscoe’s and big game worthy
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| Los Angeles, I can’t love it enough
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| So no matter where I’m at, I put my w’s up |