Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song W. C. Rocks, artist - South Central Cartel.
Date of issue: 02.08.2018
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
W. C. Rocks |
What’s up |
Cartel representin for all the real niggas that represent from both coasts |
East and west, nigga, like that |
To all you bitch-ass niggas dissin this gangsta shit |
Fuck y’all, no love |
What’s up, Treach, Kay Gee, Vin-Rock |
Youknowmsayin, puttin it down |
Ill and Al Skratch |
All the west coast homies |
Knowmsayin? |
Let’s rock |
I felt the slaughter and thought I oughta rip off niggas' faces |
Interphase my razorblades, cause this is gangsta |
Collapse perhaps when a strap split you between your eyes |
40 mm infrared beams, homicides |
.45's, .44 Desert Eagles to the skies |
Tec-9s, Mac-10s, the biggest to the smallest size |
And I ride these ghetto streets when I’m high |
L.A.C., S.C.C. |
d.o.g. |
and that’s right |
I put that on my mama, I hears the drama from the bitch coast |
Killer, better feel a realer nigga from the west coast |
Now just suppose you was on the west coast |
And you got caught up in the drama with the baby locs |
You say it ain’t real, but now you’re feelin like a hoe |
Cause a nigga 13 done knocked yo ass to the flo' |
Now nigga, what’s happenin, it’s the cavi and the gee that c-ride |
My chest full of that doja, finna slug, hittin the thai |
The Hen got a nigga brain cells on nutty |
Come with a Tec, roll in a bucket, broke as fuck, yellin «Fuck it!» |
I’m hittin niggas up as I swerve down your block |
Yellin «Cartel», yo westside rider, it don’t stop |
Put a slug in a nigga’s ass like a c |
Knock him off like a d, beatin his ass like a tree |
Rhimeson regulatin more blocks than Fort Knox |
I’m the baddest batter parlayin clippin up yo blocks |
Drop-top storin Glocks, and if the battery’s hot, it’s on |
Brigades that ice-skates and put marks in funeral homes |
The g shit won’t quit, loc, as we dip through |
Loadin clips, fool, for your whole crew, yellin «Fuck you!» |
Gangstas, teams leavin hoes and toes frozen |
Tags in teams rollin and casket doors closin |
West coast niggas don’t give a fuck |
So when you hear that milimeter bust, it be us |
Peepin how you’re dissin, sayin our missions ain’t real |
But when the Cartel’s through, you bitch-ass niggas we gon' still… |
(Eastside niggas, Westside niggas) |
Now we finna show you how the west coast rocks |
(Westside niggas, Eastside niggas) |
Now we finna show you how the west coast rocks |
Like Cube I’ma show you how the west coast rocks |
Put the clips in the Glocks and let em go pop-pop |
Eastsider, S.C.G.'s, the representers of the gory |
Keep talkin that shit, you catch a flurry |
I bury muthafuckas, they call me Buckus, not Fuckus |
But I’m quick to put a rush on all you bustas |
Enough is enough is, now who’s the fuckin roughest |
The toughest, and in the end, who’s gonna need the crutches? |
I said it once before, and I respect the realer niggas |
The realer niggas pullin killer-triggas on the iggas |
It figures, cause who’s the bigger niggas when it’s payday? |
We parlay and give the props to niggas and what they say |
It’s okay, cause gangstas movin deeper to the masses |
Others kissin asses, we comin with the blastes |
We smashes, and kickin at your asses like some stress is |
The gangstas puttin it down for the pound where the west is |
When I’m in a low-low rollin slow mo' to the east |
I be a thief like Coolio and roll with 40 Thevz |
Gees in the backseat, clippin up the heat |
I’m leanin out the window, dumpin niggas yellin «Peace!» |
Release hollow-points, splittin between your joints |
Shots explode, eyes close, niggas get my point |
West coast niggas don’t give a fuck |
So when you hear that milimeter bust, it be us |
Peepin how you’re dissin, sayin our missions ain’t real |
But when the Cartel’s through, you bitch-ass niggas we gon' still… |
(Eastside niggas, Westside niggas) |
Now we finna show you how the west coast rocks |
(Westside niggas, Eastside niggas) |
Now we finna show you how the west coast rocks |
Now I came through the do', I said it befo' |
It’s all about that west coast flow and the .44 |
So get a grip, niggas dissin best to listen |
Fuck all you hooks, and I ain’t talkin about fishin |
Got this mission that I’m completin, and niggas that I’m deletin |
And I’m heatin up your block with the Tec and the infrared Glock |
Servin niggas with Mac-10 triggers |
The bigger the nigga size, the bigger the hole he lies in |
Cause that’s the lifestyle I’m livin, so I express it in my raps |
For snaps and collapse fools with the straps |
Perhaps the west coast is too hardcore |
Kickin down your front do' with the infrared .44 |
Like, but on a mission for props |
Everybody hit the flo', no beef no mo' |
Nigga, don’t expect for us to let that shit ride on this side |
Yeah, you’re safe at home, but over here you best to hide |
I’m capable of servin niggas problems with my heater |
I’m down to put the strap down to let my fist met ya |
Niggas don’t want no problems now, nigga, you will get broke down |
Nigga, you find yourself dead on the ??? |
bound |
Cause I get so hot, niggas, you cannot stop me |
West coast comin hard, so your ass best to copy |
Sloppy-ass marks, y’all don’t wanna see me |
I throw heat on your ass and bust a cap, cause it’s easy |
Keep it real |