| I sling my nuts over my shoulder
|
| Then charge like a soldier
|
| Enemies fall to their back from the impact
|
| Of a tre five seven revolver
|
| W double O-D-I-E it’s me
|
| I be that one and only
|
| Soldier from the Yoc producer
|
| To breakin' off freebies to the homies
|
| But still hated
|
| In many different ways
|
| I’ve seen shady days
|
| Homies switchin' up
|
| Who I never thought were bitch enough
|
| Got me amazed
|
| I blame it on the crack bag
|
| The gobble go the town snap
|
| The so called homies backstabbin' each other
|
| Damn what happened
|
| It got me laughin'
|
| I ain’t trippin' Norte sidin'
|
| Skylark dippin'
|
| High performance line
|
| Dormanson’s
|
| I tap that gas from dippin'
|
| '69 if you find
|
| That white Lark with cherry wine tide
|
| Sidin' through the Yoc
|
| It’s a norteño type of the line style
|
| I’m riskin' 25 to life with the ride
|
| You ask me why I do this
|
| And I respond with a mind half gone
|
| For the fact I’m Yoc influenced
|
| I’m riskin' 25 to life with the ride
|
| You ask why I pursue this
|
| And I respond with a mind half gone
|
| For the fact I’m Yoc influenced |
| My homie Snoop gotta be deceased
|
| And come back 5 times before he’s released
|
| At age 18 swiped off the streets and set up by these punk police
|
| Convicted of 5 counts of murder
|
| All premeditated
|
| Wasn’t gang enhancers
|
| Damn this shit kept me understated
|
| And unlike you phony homies
|
| Status Snoop Ain’t never ratted
|
| Steady he stay ya’ll like a soldier
|
| Pushin' steel and gettin' tatted
|
| Addin' stripes for my homie
|
| May the Lord see his loyalty
|
| And overlook look his sins
|
| When he dies
|
| And let him live in royalty
|
| Got my gang livin' violently
|
| For homies steppin' to strife with me
|
| Got me amongst the dying breed
|
| If it was up to the Yoc Police
|
| All said locked up in a prison cage
|
| And tear drops from my eye
|
| Every time my homie’s on the front page
|
| The media’s bringin' plenty of feedback
|
| Makin' us look like monsters
|
| Label it S. West 20th street
|
| Fuck it, Yeah we West Twompsters
|
| We the ones that skip the talk
|
| Gotta get to cockin hammers
|
| If they mess with the clip of hollow tips
|
| Cuz you punks don’t have no manners |
| Fuck your standards
|
| Think of the rankings earned
|
| By how much more you’ve lost
|
| Better count that as a loss
|
| When I creep in
|
| Dirty cactus split yo knot
|
| Yoc influenced
|
| I’d never know I’d grow up to do this
|
| Pursue this life of struggle and strife
|
| And hunt when I sooth this pain in my brain
|
| When I sprinkle hot grain
|
| Remain, tame my pistol smoke
|
| Toke yo folks in vain insane, no
|
| It’s killa Cali mentality
|
| East Co. Co. 5−1-0
|
| The place ya never heard of
|
| Yes suburbia with murderers go
|
| Where the be servin' the most of
|
| Methamphetamines
|
| On triple beams
|
| So feeling they’ll be dreams
|
| And this Antioch scene gots me trippin'
|
| They got me slappin' clips in
|
| I’m plottin' out some victims
|
| And wishin' and hopin'
|
| While I’m scuffling with my semi-auto
|
| Hollow tips rip shit
|
| With visions of some sick shit
|
| But in meanwhile no smiles
|
| Cuz these hater’s shady styles
|
| Got me loadin' magazines
|
| For apposing tears I got for miles
|
| And these rat infested trials
|
| Set it up to leave Snoop fucked
|
| But it ain’t over
|
| Smokin' dosha
|
| Plottin' on his come up |