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Song Info
Genre
Charts
#16,676 in subgenre
Peak #124
Charts
Peak #11,482
Author
Dirty Da' Lux
Rights
Iron Gates
Uploaded
July 11, 2006
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.8 MB • 128 kbps • 4:08
Lyrics
I represent the block
Where they be doing a lot
Until my heart Stop
Middle finger to cops
I got some hoes on the jock
I’m bout, Money and stocks
Riding dirty
Candy on chops
Sal-ing, weed,
X-Pills, and rocks
Dodger fitted, hat cocked
Dickeys, Hand on the glock
400 stones on the watch
Another, hand on my crotch
Turn the leaves up a notch
Till yo speakers distort, and pop
I’m from the California streets
The weather, ain’t the only thing hot
Got more flow then a yacht,
Take my team to the top,
After that number one spot
Thugs like Billboard & Pac
Tops, on the porches box
The only things that drop
Mote’, and crystal bottle ain’t
The only things we pop
And I ain’t talking shoulders
When I dust them off on the block
Give me the cash, and keep the props
My family can’t eat those thoughts
killa I walk this walk
While you fonnies is all talk
Leave you slumped on the asfulk
Yellow tape and white chalk
24 with a baby face
Scared knuckles & a court case
6’4
40-inch waste, just to keep the nina in place
Mote’ with a Hennessey chase
Smoke chronic with a hash lace
Sniff coke with amazing taste
That leaves you numb in the face
The new Tony Montana don’t call me Scar face
Baby Boy fuck Puffy & Mase
They made the name a disgrace
Just watched by the jakes, dodging these snakes
Trying to get me on tape, peeping they plates
From out of state, asking me about chickens and cakes
There must be a mistake
You in the wrong place
Imaging if I would’ve empty the whole case
All in the pigs face
I be somewhere up state
Charged with a 38 that had over 101 murder case
Locked behind the iron gates, 2006 years before my release date
Sipping pru-no, eating toothpaste
Inhaling the toxic waste,
Lessening to the screams on the late, late
Mind on a vacay getting my French braid
By La’Kidda , and Shay-Shay
Knock on wood, It aint all good
Thank God I’m still in the hood
24 years never met Suge
Just some real niggas that got pull
Never Sammy the bull
Wise guy good fella
Crime patella, in three quarter leathers, hooded sweaters
That grind for cheddar, in the stellar
Like they never knew better
Wake up to Amerada’s, and guns on the dresser
More files then a college professor
Keep lead cause these streets wanna test ya
Metal umbrella for the rain cause it’s looking like bad weather
Bring it what ever, the P-89 chop you up like 7-40 papilla
SoCal the center of hell where the infamous dwell
Blood trails, and sewer smells parents either dead or in jail
