Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song S.C.G.'z, artist - South Central Cartel. Date of issue: 02.08.2018
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
S.C.G.'z |
| Check it out |
| All don’t G like we G |
| Evil side on the cut thang S.C.C |
| Y’all don’t G… |
| 4 deep on the creep, I gots the heat on — |
| We swervin' whip to set trip, regulate your block |
| Turn the 6−4's to low-low's, bangin' for the West Coast |
| What’s next? |
| Breakin fools necks like bad checks |
| Outrageous with 12 gauges, L.A. Times front pages |
| Leavin' mingled bodies hangin' on stages |
| Collapse fools with raps, peeelin' caps with straps |
| Twistin' off the bomb, my eyes are tighter than Japs |
| Rollin' evil with the evil side schemin', Young Prod |
| Clipp’s the house, oh my God, a homicide! |
| Is about to be committed, admit it, we run thangs |
| Full Clipp from S.C., ready to ride and hoo-bang |
| Competin', strangle the evil with low blows |
| Low low’s stay juiced on thick with hell of heat exposed |
| The S.C. script have a design to serve anydody |
| Yeah, West Coast is more feared than John Gotti |
| So what you gon' do when you see |
| Them West Coast G’s mobbin' 4 and 5 deep |
| And flossin' whips |
| Shake it, shake it babe, West Coast Gangstas 5 deep |
| And that’s killa… |
| G manouvres, increasin' my retaliation |
| Real killers provoked could equal to your devastation |
| My motivation is lyrication, this philosophation |
| Acquired by the gangsta’s inspiration |
| Ready to loc, I’m smokin' tracks like it’s (blunted) |
| I’m frontin' 'bout .44 mags and G rags |
| My khakis, t-shirt and Chucks stun ya |
| I zap you like a genie |
| You try to escape like Whodini |
| You plastic |
| I’m boombastic like that mutha… Shaggy |
| The Cartel keeps the groove nasty |
| You tried to fade, but got eleminated, tried the differential |
| But couldn’t fade the gangstas gettin' mental |
| Credential, compound exploding through hoods and towns |
| Breakin' it down, the G’s is makin' the world go round |
| It’s Mr. Prod comin' cutthroat, live like a wire |
| The West Coast G’s is on fire |
| Freestylin' to a instrumental, in a rental |
| Q-fo'-fever, evil side finna leave ya |
| Whole hood leakin, blood seekin' for the weekend |
| Headhuntin like a dome-servin' freak and |
| Mental scheme we G’s this, we locs like that |
| We grab Macs and reacts to open marks' backs |
| Welcome to the dome of terror, the era of the Evil Side |
| Lay fools out in rhymes like drive-by's |
| Come, come, test this, let’s just |
| See yo' face taste ??? |
| then just this |
| No mistakin, not fakin in the field, we’re money-makin' |
| We grab the g’s, get the ki’s and we shake it |
| It ain’t too easy to find me |
| Young Prod run games like Jumanji |
| My 9 blow minds everytime I dump |
| Takin' bastards' chests out and lump |
| Evil Side, serve a whole click from the back to the front |
| Don’t front, so where ya at? |
| In the back of the homie’s 'Lac |
| Cockin' a strap, finna take the funny style off the mat |
| I got your back — back at ya, gangsta |
| Pull the triggers, slugs to bastards' mugs |
| Forever Evil Side, straight bangers |