Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Bold And Brown , by - Wicked. Release date: 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 |