Low G - West Coast, Gulf Coast, East Coast lyrics

Chorus: [Frost] Ask these west coast players, and we love to ball [SPM] And these gulf coast hustlers love to do it all [Rasheed] And them east coast k**ers ought to represent And when we ride together, we gon' k** some sh** (Verse 1) [Baby Bash] I got my mind made up I'm strapped and I'm ridin' high West side til I die, money multiply Down and dirty Hooked up with my folks Gulf coast in a hurry, Cadillacs and gold j**elery And we blow big candy cane Playa-hatin' dirty Mex don't understand the game Baby Beesh, Baby Bash, Latino Velvet, do you gang bang I can't do it, cause I'm all about my money, mayne Hoggin' and doggin' Cheddar cheese, scrilla, scratch And got them super fly pimp tags to attach That's how we do it, hustle fluid runnin' through my veins I got soldiers that'll dump for a little change [South Park Mexican] Ring around the police, pocket full of ho-zies It's The Wizard, of thirty-six O-Z's Swingin' and swervin', jealous man's burden Hoes see my ride and wanna say they a virgin 20 inch turnin', keep they heart hurtin' H-town City Slicker, but my ride German Sippin' on bourbon, back woods a-burnin' Back in the days, I couldn't get one word in Now I park valet, with boys outta Cali Players on toes like the motherf**in' valley If you were me You'd be surrounded by security Dope House, known for our purity Repeat Chorus (Verse 2) [Kid Frost] It's that west coast Rider with them down south G's (Rider) Seventeen shots, pull back and squeeze (Pop, pop) Take ki's Break 'em down to O's or P's, and I'll ball Like I'm motherf**in' ten feet tall I'm laced In this b**h like PCP With SPM And little Low G Down with the clika, Baby Beesh And I'm a Hillwood Hustle til I die, motherf**er I'm a grind In L.A. til my very last day (Til my very last day) It's a struggle But I gotta bubble, baby, please believe it I guess That's the reason I roll with my rival And like I said "Big Frost's a hard act to follow" [Rasheed] It's the Philly Alumni On the drum, I Come out With the type of Funk that'll make a s**er cry, but he need no paper to fly Ain't no lie My organization down with worldwide hustlers Gettin' sick With the soldiers for that lifestyle livin' liver The homie Frost Don Cisco hopped up on the plane Sheeze That Baby Beesh pulled out the west coast mary jane On the east coast They gone and act up for that stack of paper On the south side, they run with swangers, and they stackin' paper We screaming, "Yay yay!" We done blazin' from the maze South Park Mexican and Rasheed makin' power moves every day Cash and that Money Like Universal comin' with Def Jams If you a hater, we don't hear ya, haters Repeat Chorus Twice [Verse 3: Low G] It's your boy Low G From the center of the planet I feel it Get crunk and take Control like Janet When you hear the hit For sh**, you gonna jam Can't hang with the bandit Haters can't stand it Recommended I'm in this, to win this The Menace Most worse that Dennis Mmm Me entiendes Raches apendes Remember me, Low G, from the Block Of Rock Second Ward with the nine millimeter Glock Keep it endless Stayin' friendless Cali-Tex connect Kid Frost, Baby Beesh Rasheed and the South Park Mex Repeat Chorus Twice