(feat. Kokane)





[Verse 1:]

Look I'm from Westside, California they run up on ya

Ask you where you from and check the tatts under your clothing

Hustler go hard make sure my? swollen

Fuck you, say the wrong hood bullets explodin

And I trust few people these days cause that's gold

I seen niggas get killed for who they roll with

And chose ta keep a small circle Satan sittin on ya sofa

Same nigga that shot ya was the same nigga you used ta smoke with

Cold shit my whole clique Notorious

You heard of us, 6owes is murderas

You still servin?

Jealous nigga you broke as fuck

Yo bitch on my nuts, spillin patron out my cup

She can't get enough, buffer me down as I puff

On the finest kush they say I be doin too much

I just do my stuff

Yea I just do my stuff

Hussle hussle



[Verse 2:]

I got Slauson on my back

Ed Hardy on my hip

Weight of the world on my shoulders

Gold rolly on my wrist

Neighbor hood chucks

Blue checkerboard tip

Dickies saggin off the ass walk with a? limp

Two bricks on my white tee

Same color cocaine

I ain't talkin dope I mean the price of my gold chain

All money in no money out that was my slogan

What I mean by that is stack it up and don't spend no change

I started small time dope game, cocaine

With seven grams was 30 rocks that was my program

The block propane young nigga no change

Shoot out with no aim

So they kno yo name

Cause where yo mama payed rent that was yo gang

So when yo homeboy bled that was yo pain

And if ya'll both catch a case you don't say no names

That's just the code of the color of my shoe strings