Текст песни Cali Agents - This is My Life
Cali Agents - This is My Life слова песни
[ VERSE 1: Rasco ]It be the raw rhyme spitterm, no glitter with no glamI can still turn out your whole jamIt`s nothin but fam up in the spot, nigga, ready or notAnd if you wanna see us play, put a buck in the slotWe got dangerous plotsSchemes and big dreams, big money themesI need just to feed my seedNo greed involved, but I still stand tallBe spendin yo time up at the goddamn mallDoin things that don`t mean shitStill lookin for tail, I`m lookin for my checks in the mailWithout fail we bring it back to its original formBeen doin this before you young cats was bornHated in my own backyard, what kinda logic is that?These niggas mad cause I`m bringin it fatIn fact, I`m never broke, never blowin the smokeBut when I`m standin in the crowd, they be knowin the quotesIt`s like, how in the hell do these cats even sell?Be spittin big words your ass can`t even spellStars and quasars, a hundred and ten barsOf pure rhymes, I`ma tell you one last timeMy rhyme`s elite, give me 265 feetI might leave niggas sprawled in the streetWhen you spit yours, the shit didn`t sound rightAnd now it`s because you didn`t lay it down rightCover your folks with all the chronic weed smokeYou just found out that Ras didn`t need folksI do it myself, I keep cash at the spotBe up in your face, whether you like Ras or not[ CHORUS ]This is my life, I gotta live itAnd if you cats reallyDon`t know we gotta let y`all feel itIt`s never the sameYou know we gots to maintainWe figured you out, we know your whole damn game (2x)[ VERSE 2: Planet Asia ]Yo, bon voyage, load the track as we take offI break off with explodin facts you can`t shake offExperiment in Cali, I rep the Valley up to CentralHoes, flows, big dough and smashin rentalsCross the country like young guns bustin at you outdoorsThese backpack niggas don`t even know what they out forFrontin like they don`t want cashEvery since I made my first g I knew I had to make shit lastI write rhyme for rhyme, line till my mind got elaborateA complicated torturous arrangement on my tabletI`m hard-fisted, on some smoke-a-cigar-split shitStraight out the yard district, here to leave scars inflictedOn your wack-ass production, the way we freak beats is uniqueYou feel the heat just like a backlash or somethinI write fast but think slow, I keep my cash wrinkledYo, catch me blowin grams in Amsterdam at ParadisoPullin notches, and not only do we rock fresh gearBut when it comes to hip-hop, we like a breath of fresh airLike yeah, and just to let y`all side-busters knowWe rep the underground, but still we out to make doughKnow what I`m sayin?[ CHORUS ]