Public Enemy Studios - Another Crazy Day lyrics

[Verse 1: Toker] Got the f** up to another crazy day Got my travos, hit em up and I was on my way Three Flowers in my hair, creased up and my gat A half-way joint in my ear and a twenty dollar sack Jumped on my cycla and I rolled to the hood Smoking a toke, getting high, feeling good Rolling South Central through the crazy Eastside Made a stop and got the homie and we went for a ride With some black spray paint, we went strinking up Crossing motherf**ers out and leaving up our block Shaded in and all that with all the homies names Eastside South Central's where the f** we claim Rolling on the cruiser got the homey on the bars Watching out, keeping trucha for the black and white cars Another crazy day rolling through the evil side Throwing up the hood to every fool that drives by [Dialougue: Wicked] That's right ese, kicking up nada but reality So if you putos don't know, you better recognize [Verse 2: Toker] Gang-banging like a motherf**er, down for my sh** And giving up a chance for any fools to trip Blue-ragging to the heart to represent where I'm from I'm a soldier from the South and I'm known to hold my own Down with the homies, always rolling deep Late at night, keep trucha cause we're out on a creep Leaving bodies behind, putos coming up dead One to the chest and three to f**ing the head And roll back to the hood and not give a f** Smoke a Kool to the brain till we can't f**ing walk Simon that's how it is in the crazy a** hood Rolling deep, gang-banging, always up to no good Hanging out on the corner, creased gangster'd out Motherf**ers know what's up cause they don't even come around We got the hood blocked up, the Eastside everywhere South Central got these motherf**ers running scared [Mid-Dialougue: Wicked] The gangs of LA, they'll never die They'll just multiply All you putos who ain't real, ese keep trucha for my steel [Verse 3: Toker] Another crazy day, another crazy trip The homies don't give a f** cause they're down for their sh** Los Night Owls, Tiny Locos, Crooks, and the Tiny Dukes The traviesos and the locos always smoking that juice Crazy motherf**ers, we don't give a f** Another crazy day, just hanging out on the block Always watching our backs, keeping trucha, looking out That's just how it goes in the crazy a** south Los Angeles, Califas, crazy 2-1-3 Always running from the motherf**ing LAPD Simon living life, hanging from a string But I don't give a f** because it's all the same thing Creases in my travos, white Nike shoes Wearing locs, blue rags, and giving putos the blues Another crazy day, another day gone by Hanging out in the hood of the crazy Eastside [Outro Dialougue: Wicked] Real sh**, from real locotes Doing it South Central style