Текст песни Ras Kass - West Coast Mentality
Ras Kass - West Coast Mentality слова песни
[Ras Kass]Strike three, heheIt`s-just-thug-men-tal-i-ty, nigga..Ha, YEAHHH, ha, yeah-YEAHHH, uh-uhh, uhh..Ras Kass register Richter with nine point eight tectonic plate quakesFirm rubber no breaks, California plates Golden StateCatch me sittin on the roof, bumpin Snoop"Gin and Juice" reminiscin bout the rides and gang truceSeventy degrees in the winter - tropical weatherand vendettas cause L.A. niggaz be all about they cheddarHoochie bitches and B.G.`s too big for they britchesCurb servin, they double up to get richerFuck around them lil` niggaz comin to get`cha and get wit`chaDump until six hit`cha, don`t let the sunshine and palm treesfool you get the picture, niggaz be in Hollywood thinkin it`s all goodBut everything South of Wilshire, is all hoodNiggaz committin murderLater that night at Tommy`s eatin a chili-cheese burgerMenace II Society, seen thatKobe and Shaq - Lakers bout to bring the championship ring backFrom Ladera Heights to Venice BeachDime pieces with BMW leases and Cartier timepiecesI was born to raise West coast til my casket dropThrow up a dub, spittin at the camera like `Pac, ptooeyChorus: Ras Kass (repeat 2X)Would y`all get down for me, I`ma represent my townso y`all represent y`all town for meIf a G`s gettin made, put it down with meHomey that`s a West Coast Mentality[Ras Kass]Three-hundred and ten angels, flossin nine-hundred and nine fdangles(?)Two-hundred and thirteen sets to gangbang tooThree-hundred and twenty-three hungry homies want steakNever been greedy, if I ate/eight, one-eight (donate)So if I gotta choose a coast, I got to choose the WestBorn and raised out there, so don`t - go thereOh yeah, I`m the illest nigga, clownin y`all foolswith everything y`all say like Luther LuffeighI swoop through L.A. hoe, bendin y`all bitches like clay doughFuck what you say doe, these streets are fatal pendejoSo everywhere I go I take West coast with meHome of the driveby, Thug Life and dickiesWhat you know about silk shirts (huh?)Cross corded snakeskin belts, flippin off the front porchLesson number one - niggaz don`t give a fuckand lesson number two remember lesson number oneChorus[Ras Kass]See in L.A., niggaz don`t walk, niggaz drive whips with beatsWeak niggaz trick, most niggaz say bitches ain`t shitbut hoes gotta eat too, they all be at Club Lingeriewith a gay down to meet youBut fuck a three-piece suitY`all niggaz dressin like y`all goin to churchEither me and my homies get in lookin like this or we skert(errrrrrrrrr) and if they bullshittin, we just parkin-lot pimpin`Sunday night, Jamaican gold, hip-hop and cheebaTuesday lesbian divas be up in Peanuts (what)I be fuckin baby girl and her studPlus she said my dick was big, my shit be up in the gutWaittress bitch tryin to front like we broke, "Whattup loc?"Give me a Henn` and O.J. without slashin Nicole`s throatC-arson nigga, I`m just the illest emceeAll California Love, rest in peace Bigga B.Chorus 2X