[Intro: MC Ren]
Yeah, nigga, MC Ren up in this motherfucker
(West West, y’all)
Yeah, L.A. niggas
L.A. niggas rule the world, nigga
Y’all niggas gotta recognize, you know what I’m sayin’?
Niggas don’t wanna peep game, you know what I’m sayin’?
But this shit come all the way back around here
My nigga Dre, droppin’ heat rocks on y’all bitch-ass
You know what I’m sayin’? You gotta recognize
L.A. niggas, connected all over the motherfucking world, nigga
Recognize this – peep game
[Verse 1: Time Bomb]
Now in my younger days, I used to sport a rag
Backpack full of cans, plus a four-four mag
G’d up from the feet up
Blue’d up from the shoe up, how I grew up
Loc’n, smokin’ and drinkin’ ’til we threw up (‘Til we threw up)
At Leimert Park, taggin’, hittin’ fools up
Ditching my class, just to fuck yo’ school up
You don’t wanna blast, nigga, tuck yo’ tool up
But don’t sleep, young niggas quick to shoot you
Now there’s another motherfucker with no future
But Time Bomb much smoother when I maneuver, dope like Cuba
Got ’em jumpin’, Disciples to the Hoover
[Verse 2: King T]
I’m coming “Straight Outta Compton” with a loose cannon
Smoke big green, call it Bruce Banner
Watch your manners; at last, another blast from the top notch
From way back with the Pop Rocks, I pop lock witcha
Picture this: Dr. Dre twisting wit’ Tha Liks
And Hittman bought a fix
Don’t trip, it’s a Time Bomb in this bitch
Hear it tick, tick, tick, tick— *boom*
Wait a minute, it’s on; I tell it like a true mackadelic
Weed and cocaine sold separate, check it
From sundown to sun up, clown and run up
The Aftermath’ll be two in your gut, nigga what?
[Hook: Knoc-Turn’al & Kokane]
We roll deep, smoke on weed, drink and pack heat
Requirements for survival each day in L.A.!
It don’t stop, we still mash in hot pursuit from the cops
Analyze why we act this way in L.A.!
[Verse 3: Hittman]
Gimme that mic, fool, it’s a West Coast jack move
They call me Hitt, ’cause I spit like gats do
Cock me back
Bust caps for my Macz Crew, at Fairfax
We used to wear Air Max shoes, that’s true
But I grew up where niggas jack you, harass you
Blast you for that set you claim (Where you from?)
Mash on you for your Turkish chain, CK, BK
Blue’d up or flame, I ran wit a gang
I helped niggas get jacked for they Dana Danes
My pants hang below my waistline
I look humble; wanna rumble? (Yeah, yeah)
I bang though, like Vince Carter from the baseline
Don’t waste my time
Fuck a scrap in killa Cali, AKs and 9s
One-times, sunshines and fine-ass bitches
Hawaiian Thai, drive-bys, six-fo’s on switches
[Verse 4: Xzibit]
I was raised in the hood called WHAT-THE-DIF’
Where the brothers in the hood refused to go Hollywood
Slugs for the fuck of it
Anybody hatin’ on us can suck a dick
If I catch you touching mine, you catch a flat-line, dead on the floor
Better than yours, driving away, gettin’ head from a whore
It’s AvireX-to-the-Z
Fuckin’ with me might get you banned from TV, cassette, and CD
It’s all mine, the whole nine, the right time
Multiply, we don’t die, the streets don’t lie
What? So neither do I; I’m bad for your health
Like puttin’ a pistol up to your face and blastin’ yourself
[Verse 5: Defari]
Five in the mornin’, burglars at my do’
Glock 45 in my dresser drawer
Let ’em come in — BOW, he see the thunder roll
Roll with niggas who buy fifths by the fo’
And brews by the case
Slap you in the face with the bass Dr. Dre laced
Likwit Kings with Sedans and gold rings
Haters scope the style, but can’t find no openings
[Hook: Knoc-Turn’al, Kokane]
We roll deep, smoke on weed, drink and pack heat
Requirements for survival each day in L.A.!
It don’t stop, we still mash in hot pursuit from the cops
Analyze why we act this way in L.A.!
[Outro]
In L.A. –
That’s how we ride
That’s how we ride
That’s how we ride
That’s how we ride
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