Lyrics Westside Connect OGs - The Comrads, Ice Cube, Mack 10

Westside Connect OGs

One, two, three, Westside Connect OG’s
And if you wanna go to the tip top
Make your Glock go peezop, P-I's
My nigga K-Mac and me
Mack 10, Ice Cube, Dub, and Bink
Squeak Ru, a crew of colored bandanas
Making paper with yayo and Arm and Hammer
Baking soda, Land Rovers, four deep in each
Street sweepers under seats
Chuck Taylors, Ben Davis from the swap meet
Flex those, Lexos, straight plug from Mexico
While y’all niggas cop it from the West Coast
We drink XO and Louis XIII
Million-dollar niggas keep in touch with the crack scene
More green than a leprechaun
At the light with your body, peel your dome back with teflon
Ring-da-da-da-ding-ding-ding-ding, ring the alarm
From the school of assault and batteries and short arms
It’s the, it’s the janky ass nigga, game spitter
Brick splitter, runnin' with nothin' but platinum hitters
Open the curtains, nigga, so the sister can get to bustin'
Y’all niggas know my name, so fuck the introduction
Run it up, turn it up, bangin' on all the competition
It’s Dub-C and the Comrads together on this mission, nigga
One, two, three, Westside Connect OG’s
And if you wanna go to the tip top
Make your Glock go peezop, P-I's
Welcome to the killing field, where everything is real
Death and murder, I know I probably served you before
It’s the nigga from next door, for sure connected
I roam the streets with heat, Westside rollin'
Swollen eye for bustas
Jealousy, you keep trailin' me
Tellin' me to stay strapped, sixteen shots in my lap
A smile on my face and death behind my eyes
Surprise, the Comrads is on the rise
Sized you up and not giving a fuck
I got a gang of homies stuck
True gangstas, quick to bank ya
Gank ya for your goods
I’m from South Central Los Skanless
With The Comrads from L-wood
Mack Manson’s back, poppin' niggas like pills
I get thrills and kills in the Hollywood Hills
If murder wasn’t the case, ain’t no tellin' where I would be
Indo and sherman keep my head where it should be
Freeze, bitch, face down on your bellies
But my cellies got dope rollin' like Pirellis
The Comrads and me, all about that big scrill
So, Connect Gang members only niggas that I kill for
One, two, three, Westside Connect OG’s
And if you wanna go to the tip top
Make your Glock go peezop, P-I's
We breakin' niggas down to nubs, slap 'em with the dub
Make 'em cover up, bustas get no love
Quick, Bink, pass me the paddle
Niggas wanna battle, they don’t know I strike like a rattle
Connection niggas on the spin, once again
You hear the siren, you can’t comprehend
I got my strap in the waistband
And if you fuck with the set, I got to blow up your place, man
Keep my fingers on the trigger
Representin' the hood and dyin' for my niggas
We the best on the planet
And fuck every politician in the world tryin' to ban it
Back to work, nigga, it’s the boss with the nina ross
Only got eight fuckin' bars to come off
Goddizzang, niggas wanna kiss the rizzang of the kizzang
Dub-S-C gizzang
Bing bing bizzang, get like seven on the dice
You might catch us slippin' once, never catch us slippin' twice
Y’all niggas gon' be moppin' our floors
You call it hip-hop, we call it Star Wars
One, two, three, Westside Connect OG’s
And if you wanna go to the tip top
Make your Glock go peezop, P-I's
One, two, three, Westside Connect OG’s
And if you wanna go to the tip top
Make your Glock go peezop, P-I's
One, two, three, Westside Connect OG’s
And if you wanna go to the tip top
Make your Glock go peezop, P-I's
Westside, Connect Gang