Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Bold And Brown, artist - Wicked.
Date of issue: 04.10.2012
Song language: English
Bold And Brown |
Q-Vo Raza |
You motherfuckers can call me Wicked |
Representando en las pinches calles |
This is for the cholas |
And the pelones bandieros |
You know who you motherfuckers are |
Q-Vo |
Here to represent |
Los Angeles, Sur California |
It’s still dos uno tres |
About that time to jump out of bed |
Blood shot my eyes, realized I had to shave my head |
Those that know show how nuestras calles roll |
While you’re in the game ese you claim where you’re from |
Still the same since the pinche pedo started |
Obsorbing thoughts with shots, but won’t say it scarred it Living it, giving it, a voice for our street |
Won’t except defeat, this loco craves the creep |
With me you roll with a flow that runs slow |
To understand me loco, 213 controla |
The streets where bandieros meet |
Boom, beat, embrace defeat |
Pistolas bust caps, ese we be rhyming raps |
In court fools still squeal, consider them rats |
That’s just some shit found and the Brown’s where we clown |
This rola’s for cholas the and those bald and brown |
Bass turned up to bump Brownside sound |
Let them know all around we’re the bald and brown |
Men, and our bandiero trend |
Is M-E-X-I-C-A-N |
Se ponle loco, where we roll some putos just don’t know |
We give a fuck tambien, Eastside South Central |
We creap, lurk, kick up dirt, making putos hurt |
These pinches locos call it putting in work |
Uno saben, otro saben their pistolas pound |
Pull the malditos down with no evidence found |
No crees, pero loco got two to the chest |
Now deceased is where that motherfucker rest |
Next to his homey, packing este, lonely |
Pointing and telling the judge that they both know me Trip, two culitos, neta ain’t shit |
Cuz through their barrio all they got was a dick |
We hit, dip, catch a stupid slipping |
Pop the clip in, pelones are tripping |
Again, puro pinche Mexican |
On the creep, staying deep for my Sureno land |
White t-shirt, Cortez, and my Levis |
Once I shave my head I’ve completed my disguise |
In your eyes you realize que controlo |
South Califas con nuestras clickas de cholo |
Solo aveces, but not all the time |
Wanna know what’s on my mind, ese get out of line |
A Brownside’ll bump it, here to prove something |
Vatos from Sur California always dumping |
Car to car or even in the street |
So trucha motherfuckers cuz it’s on when we meet |
Heat protected, I never neglect it The fact that this loco don’t know how to act |
Just strap and smoke weed to make my eyes bleed |
Sin semilla, that means no fucking seed |
I light it and smoke it until I choke |
No feria in my pocket, damn I gotta get some dough |
Hell yea |
Ya saben quien es El pinche maldito, representando de las calles |
Lado cafe |