Low Profile Gangsters - What the f** You Smokin' lyrics

[Frank V] I'm a Low Pro thuggsta, used to be a muggsta And if you heard Overdose you'd think I own a drug store Raps like Rocha, or better yet c**a My beats are pure like h**n in the streets So take a puff of the stuff, fill up your seringe Cuz my sh**'s rough and tough and off the motherf**ing hinge Through your area, zip code, trip code I'm not a Busta, but I'll flip it to Flipmode Get rich mode, get drunk hit a b**h mode That '64 Chevrolet hit a switch mode Royal T knows my vision, get paid and make a million Stay ghetto rich [Royal T] It's the motherf**ing Royal T I keep it cracking on the streets of SD I f** with G's, you can't f** with me I got them k**ers, homey you can't see, ese you can't be You're all slipped up and you think you're hard I got some little homies that'll pull your card Put you in a coma, hit the next corner Fool you can't hang with the Low Pro Gang [Chorus x2: Lil' Rob] You f**ing chavala, homey you ain't nada You're bound to catch a bala in the side of your Impala Who the f** you joking, what the f** you smoking Whatever it is got you buzzing, cuz homeboy you ain't nothing [Lil' Rob] I step into the battlefield, one vato you can't overlook Dropping sh** with Royal T, Frank V, Yogi, and all the crooks And we stop right through the blocks, got pedo we got the Glocks And you know we can't be stopped, baddest rolas ever dropped And we do it all the days, keeping up our evil ways Drop the top on Chevrolets, the differences that Low Pro pays If you don't believe me you'll see me in my '63 Chrome'd out to the bone holmes, or in my Fleetwood, roam holmes I got a f**ing bag of tricks, drinking by the pack of six And I'll grab another one, that's a twelve pack and I still ain't done Hotties young and I am too, parties I'm invited to Crazy f**ing place to be, and I f**ing aim to please Rolling in the two-tone, Chevy gangster lights on Flying just like Superman, but I don't got no tights on 42-30's creased up, that's how I always am Cruising in an oldie, bumping all them oldie jams [Chorus x2] [Bandit] Cruising through the streets of Los Angeles Everywhere I roll's looking scandelous Roll your window half way if you can't handle this Homey watch your back cuz we gonna die for this Curb serving in the hoods, making paper, for sure we roll We give a f** where you're from cuz that's just how sh** go Keep it cracking, make it happen, it the streets of the beat People dying, bullets flying, see the news on tv Real fools, real dues, in the streets where I'm from Busting shots at the cops, homey f** the dumb But set it off doing dirt, putting my name on the map You recognize where I'm from and that's where I'm at Phat Bandit marinating in the streets of LA No player hation when you see me cuz it's all hoodgate West Coast living, chilling, in the place to be We got your back little homey, come and ride with me [Chorus x2]