Verse 1:
Welcome to the ghetto and this is the place young niggas be throwin
they rocks up in my face
My homey G be yellin yo this like a holdup I'm pullin my gat to make
a mutha fucka fold up
In my Jag on my phone talkin business Mac 10 to my dome Yo what is this
I'm tellin him drop it Yo let's box and we can go a round he dropped
his gat I picked it up and blew his ass down
I know it's scandalous but a simple fuckin dirty fact, I'd rather hear
my Uzi rat-a-ta-ta-tat-tat
It's for protection not to kill or break a nigga's bones, back to the
story, here's the story B the story on
His guts were scattered he was splattered up against the wall, my homey
G was on my phone buggin off my call
I tried to smash but I'm lookin at some high beams into the eyes of
some mutha fuckin dope fiend
He seen me shoot him so I shot him blew his ass off , I shot my Uzi up
in the air and then I smashed off
I'm rollin thicker than a milkshake, I like to eat crab but I prefer
steak
I ain't no joke mutha fucka so don't play yourself, I flip you over fry
your ass like a patty melt
And if you ever disrespect me I'ma bank ya, so say what up to the
mutha fuckin east bay gangsta
meneme forgot to use my nine cuz 5-0 bombed the AK, the 187 posse
robbed the bank in a way. Legal or illegal it's the way of the bay. The
government keep the profit of cocaine in a way. Me shootin up me
shootin up if he don't give me my pay The niggas up on the block send
for me every day. A thousand everyday will keep the 5-0 away. Just
call me east bay G-A-N-G-S-T-A
Verse 2:
Looked in my mirror cose range right behind me, tinted windows up in
the Benz 190
I ain't no du
