We’re far from good

Not good from far

90 miles per hour down Compton Boulevard

With the top down, screaming we don’t give a f-ck

Drink my 40 ounce of freedom while I roll my blunt

Cause the kids just aint alright



Oh shit niggas

Somethin’ bout to happen

Nigga this shit, nigga this sound like 30 keys under the compton court building

Hope the dogs don’t smell it



Welcome to vigilante

80?s so don’t you ask me

I’m hungry my body’s antsy

I’ll rip through your f-cking pantry

Peeling off like a ? examine my orchestra

Granny said when I’m old enough

I’ll be sure to be all I can be

You niggas Marcus Camby, washed up

Pussy fix ya panties

I’m Mr. Marcus, you gettin’ f-cked, ugh

You aint heard nothing harder since Daddy Kane

Take it vain, vicodins couldn’t ease the pain

Lightening bolts hit ya body, you thought it rained

Not a cloud in sight, just the shit that I write strong enough

To stand in front of a travelling freight train

Are you trained, to go against Dracula

Dragging the record industry by my fangs

AK clips, money clips and gold chains

You walk around with a P90 like it’s the 90?s

Bullet to your temple your homocide’ll remind me



Them Compton crip niggas aint nothing to f-ck with

Bompton Piru’s aint nothing to f-ck with

Compton esé’s aint nothin’ to f-ck with

But they f-ck with me and bitch I love it



Whoopty whoop, woopty woop woop

Whoopty whoop, woopty woop woopty woop woop

(California dungeons)

Whoopty whoop, woopty woop woop

Whoopty whoop, woopty woop woopty woop woop

(California dungeons)



Lets hit the county building gotta catch my check

Spend it all to a 40 ounce to the neck

And in retrospect I remember December being the hottest

Squad cars, neighbourhood wars and stolen monsters

I tell you mothaf-ckers that life is full of hydraulics

Up and down, get 64 better know how to drive it

I’m driving on E with no license or registration

Heart racin’ racing past johnny because he’s racist

1987, the children of Ronald Reagan raped the leaves off your front porch

With a machine blow torch

He blowing on stress, hoping to ease the stress

He copping some blow hoping that it can stretch

New born massacre, hoppin’ out the passenger

With calendars cause your date coming

Run ‘em down them he gun em down

I’m hoping that you fast enough

Even the legs of Michael Johnson don’t mean nothin’ because



Them Compton crip niggas aint nothing to f-ck with

Bompton Piru’s aint nothing to f-ck with

Compton esé’s aint nothin’ to f-ck with

But they f-ck with me and bitch I love it



Whoopty whoop, woopty woop woop

Whoopty whoop, woopty woop woopty woop woop

(California dungeons)

Whoopty whoop, woopty woop woop

Whoopty whoop, woopty woop woopty woop woop

(California dungeons)



Can’t detour when you at war with your city

Why run for?

Just ride with me, just die with me

That gun store, right there

When you fight, don’t fight fair

Cause you’ll never win



Can’t detour when you at war with your city

Why run for?

Just ride with me, just die with me

That gun store, right there

When you fight, don’t fight fair

Cause you’ll never win

Yeah yeah yeah



Woah woah wo-wo-wo-woah

Woah woah wo-wo-wo-woah