| West coast Pro bowlin'
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| Roll with the dro' blowin'
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| Smokin' in the four door
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| Knowin' the po' scopin'
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| Throwin' up the logo
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| Cold in slow motion
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| Supposin', that’s why I wore those clothes is on (what's the slow?)
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| Specific division, exquisite edition
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| Rap for hours on twin towers will catch us detention
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| Half of these rappers is cowards, they never been in the system
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| Wake yo' punk ass up, nigga you trippin'
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| In it like the senate, certified authentic
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| CA sports, bangin' in a minute
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| And L.A. the true blue the cherry flame fitted
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| Better know who’s who cause every gang acquainted
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| I’m saluting all the troops hanging pac 10 penants, huh
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| Buckle your vest, cause here come the West
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| It’s Young Maylay and the r-i-double-f-s
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| No stopping this, regardless servin' them marvelin'
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| It’s like a fat ass drunk kicking hard guitar lifts
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| Shaking up the roof, tell them truth is off the meter
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| Woofers get to rumblin', bumpin' peakin' the tweeters, huh
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| Sounds pumpin', shakin' everything from the ground up
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| Cali earthquake gonna make the whole ground jump
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| It’s worth takin', if you talkin' the right shit
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| Suburban stakes, big skates on a tight rip, huh
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| Rims and tires, higher and higher
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| Pass them bars, keep thinkin' the inside on fire
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| When I’m cheefin' the cheefer, blowin' the reefer, huh
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| In the Hemi, the Hemi, ya hear me?
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| Chrysler 300C, nigga Bentley
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| Think their doses is the coldest, sold the fan blade
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| 5 inch lifting sittin' and in the band aids
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| Off it again, coughin' the flim
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| Crawl in the crosswalk, flossin' all of the rim
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| Small time grinding, but ballin' to win
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| Trying to survive but niggas all in the pen, gotta call up the ends
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| Prison system, segregated courts
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| High speed chasin' is a spectator sport
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| Known for low lows, best hoes and bong, yay
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| Only thing you hear about the west is Kanye
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| Come on mayne, this is for the west coast now |