Lyrics:
fiend's boy
I got runners like the coach of the track team
Yes I'm focused vision clear as a flat screen
You broke niggas not eating your fast things
[Intro: Dedric & Nipsey Hussle]
This for the West Coast bity
Aaa-oooaaah
Bow
Aaa-oooaaah
Aaa-oooaaah
(Dedric droppin shit, droppin shit in tha hood,
south to the east coast
West coat
We still live by the g code
Got the South, Got the East,
Got the West with me
So I suggest you better not mess with me
niggas with
Them stuffed in a Fender
On the West coast, I'm one of the littest
Outside of Roscoe's smokin' dope by the
Fronto with a couple of bitches
That
easily I approach
She dug my rap, that's how we got close
But then she broke to the West Coast, and that was cool
'Cause around the same time, I went
easily I approach
She dug my rap, that's how we got close
But then she broke to the West Coast, and that was cool
'Cause around the same time, I went
on the front porch
Stick em like a pitch fork, this is not New York
This is a concept comin from L.A.
The West Coast comin with the war braids
So you know we're
the nigga with 2 still can serve you
This West Coast flow is different than the East
But it ain't no different in the street
I'm spittin' pollaseeds
I crack
shotgun hop one
Drop one, nigga hit'em with the bop'n
Yeah I got the chronic its ferocious
You can feel it in your bones like osteoporosis
West coast
Spanky
Let me git my funds rite homie don't playa hate me
Lite it up blaze it up ain't no need fa chokin
Eastside Long Beach foo we West Coast
Let's
to fuck
So check it out
You know who's runnin' these fuckin' streets
(The king of these West Coast gangsta beats, niggas)
Always droppin' off nothin'
West Coast Hov, niggas want the Blueprint
Got a main chick and Dames bitch
I'm Big Pimpin
West Coast Jigga, watch me reach a Million
My bitch bad,
for what we
sayin'
Were movin' young flakes up to the street
Across the world, ship for SMG
Down South, to the East Coast, from the West Coast
And now we've come to that time
Where the legend of Griselda lives forever (ah)
The Butcher comin', nigga
Ayo, y'all niggas should know by now
a ho short from a pimp
With the gangsta walk limp
I tossed up the hat by the Raiders
Now I'm crocodile and alligator
Tryin to get my paper, man, they say
By the ocean
And we posted
Now the feds patrollin'
Rollin' with my riders
From the West Coast
In the back seat
Coolin' with the homies
Bitches know me
like CPR.
Made the west side world wide.
No PR. Gangsta rap god. Imma end all be all.
California love from the Bloods to the C-Dogs.
The Compton monsters
no hours back
West coast love for me
That's the type of love where she won't fold on me
Wait on promises that you had swore to me
Praying baby girl
what pocket I had left, my handkerchief
I'm guilty by affiliation, in many ways gangsta
But let me explain something, a paradox if you may
I threw all my
the yayo flyin' in from all the West Coast
Fleet of cars all red like this was Death Row
Keep it gangsta, never singin' like it's "Danny Boy"
All she seen
on a dime
The West coast stays on your mind - the line
Is thin, I'm in for the win so you lose
Original like Chuck T shoes
Who want to dis the rider
Light
And fools who got the nerve
To pretend that they was down
When last month they wadn't even around
West coast, East coast, and worldwide
My homies in
my motto is "Fuck every rapper from the East and the West Coast"
New School, Old School, I hate you motherfuckers
I'm steady plottin wipin my ass
the van like the A-Team, I slang cream
The West Coast Don and Kansas City King
You ain't know? Tecca Nina, General in The Regime
If you ever disrespect
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