[Lil' Rob Talking]

Southern California

Home of low-ridin'

Gang-bangin' and shit

California



[Chorus](Lil' Rob)

I was raised in the streets of California

(Southern California, home of car-hoppin' and

bomb-droppin'

West coast pop lockin', walkin' how we're talkin')

I was raised in the streets of California

(I was raised in Californ-I-A

Where homeboys die everyday over some shit they say)



[Verse 1]

I've always been down with hydros

And cholos, the low-lows

The six-threes, the six-fours

The rucas with no clothes

Used to drop the two-door

Gang-bang in a four door

Puttin' bullet holes

In the doors of a Ford Explorer

Hard-core, and I got more and more

Where that came from?

Welcome to my kingdom

The streets are my freedom

I need em', I feed em', I feedback

They need that, like I need my weed sack

Take a toque, wacha

Where were we at?

Oh, California the golden state

Controllin' states, pushin' weight

Where vatos like me hallucinate

bouble up while you fumble up

Fuckin' up, you fuckin' punk

If there's no room

Then we'll stick em' by the fuckin' pump



[Chorus]



[Verse 2]

Slippin' and dippin', grippin' the wheel

Lockin' it up

Dump the back corner

Pop the front one up

Put the convertable top down

It's too good to stop now

This California livin'

Smoke up on the ceilin'

Party at the roof, off the hook

Got every drug up in the book

You don't believe me

See for yourself and take a closer look

Low rider car shows

Hoppin' till the truck blows

Catch me at the bar

Havin' a beer with my uncles

Pacifico with no lime

That's what I drink at all times

Creased up Davis'

I'm always out like where the pavement is

I come from the underground

The underground like where the basement is

It's California, people have a hard time facin' it



[Chorus]



[Verse 3]

Lowrider bicycles, tricycles

Cold as icycles

Smokin' chronic shit

So high, you would think my eyes are closed

I got my eyes on those

Who be thinkin' that my eyes are closed

But there not ese

Trucha when you get too close

You'll know, that I know

What you think? I don't know

I might explode, unload

Reload, and unload

You broke the code, you got's to go

Ain't no future in your frontin'

Crazy California homeboy

Where the cuete's bustin'

California stylin', California ridin'

Whittier Boulevard to 'Frisco

Then back to Highland

I gots to do it like the locos do

Don't race your ride

Hop your ride like you're supposed to do, through



[Chorus]