Cross 'Em Out And Put A 'K

In about four seconds, a gangsta will begin to speak Well, it's the mad chickenhawk with the dirty lick style And pullin' 211's ever since taa-doow, there's ten million ways to die Choosin' Mack and hit the boopin', floosin' Off this gang-bang music, so all I'd wanna got the room stumped I'm smokin', make dough like Trump Cookin' chowder to they chunk, punk Straight off dust, nigga trust I bust And cross 'em out and put a 'K if they ain't down with us It's off the hook, nigga, I'm a Westside crook, nigga The forty motherf**kin' dollars on my books, nigga I'm not an MC, I'm not a G I mean I'm A to f**kin' Z and everything in between Rappers like gangbangin' 'cos I'm in it to the fullest And my hood ain't never dodgin' bullets It's all about the Bloods and Crips, no one tri-ips Colors and dips, bitches and chips, nigga What's this my friggen low-grader system That takes puff B I itches on the premises Nigga be dissin' on a down low, so now my motto's "f**k every rapper from the East and the West Coast" New School, Old School, I hate you motherf**kers I'm steady plottin', cracklin' my a*s wit'cha album covers Cross 'em out and put a 'K Then no Saint days, nigga, then run the f**kin' holidays 'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A. 'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A. 'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A. 'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A. Goddamn nigga, this shit make me sick All these West Coast cowards ridin' New York beat Busters get sprayed wearin' high-top fades And Cango's backwards with dark-a*s shades No switchblades, nigga, we shoots That's how it is on the West when you're true to your roots So kill the action, punk, hootchie bitches clown Nigga get your sag on and keep your pants legs down Check it, ho' shut your mouth and get naked I'm Connected and ain't no bitches singin' on this record No R and B tracks, just niggas on wax Kickin' facts with these gang-bang raps Every nigga in the industry wanna rap with me Like it's all good, you ain't from my hood Nigga, I don't even like your shit, I don't like your form I'm true, your through, nigga f**k you Nigga get off, this shit is wacked f**k that, I bust you in the can with a motherf**kin' propajack Spit on ya, shit on ya when I get on your pissil You're goin' up and your f**kin' 'cos I ain't lovin' none of ya And even the female rappers are gettin' smacked Stabbed in the titties and kicked in the back 'Cos I'm a Westside Connection hista Bored from a lover dishin' nothin' but foolers and dirty rubbers 'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A. 'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A. 'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A. 'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A. In about four seconds, a killa will begin to speak Now you can cross out the busters and snitches B-Real and Miss Muggs is like Hollywood bitches From the niggas I know in the streets I run through Swear to God bitch, real it ain't one dog and nobody So watch what you say,who ya talkin' 'bout,ya tweakin' And keep hogs out'cha mouth when ya bitch a*s is speakin' I'm sick wit it, cappin' cha dome till I hit it This Westside Connection, Cypress know they can't f**k with it Use to get kisses and hugs, now I'm servin' ya slugs f**k B-Real and Muggs, y'all niggas ain't no f**kin' thugs Be all surprised, everybody dies From Columbian neckties covered with fright Ya f**kin maggots, ya f**kin' faggots I shoulda hurt you, every motherf**ker that I know wanna hurt you So when I pull my spray-can to spray I'm sprayin' C H K all motherf**kin' day I once knew this bitch by the name of Q-Tip Who claim he had a problem with this gangsta shit Behind closed doors, runnin' his mouth like a trick-in Till this nigga 'bout the name of Dove caught him slippin' Tied his a*s up and threw him in the truck Put an apple in his mouth and dug his a*s out I [Incomprehensible] lead him then down his body stashed In a trash bag with a cue-cover in his a*s 'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A. 'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A. 'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A. 'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A. Don't go chasin' waterfalls Stick to them d**ks and balls you're used to Punk a*s motherf**kers