Boogie Freestyle | LA Leakers Freestyle #025 lyrics

[Spoken: Justin Credible, DJ Sourmilk, & Boogie]
Yes, yes! L.A. Leakers
That’s right
Justin Credible, Sourmilk!
Yeah, that!
The west side of Compton has invaded the studio
Now we in this jawn!
Boogie in here, ready to talk some sh*t!
Live from the west side, let’s get to it, man
Shady Records!
Shoutout the L.A. Leakers. Shoutout to Shady Records, man, shoutout to the world
Yeah, yeah, yeah, let’s get to it!

[Intro: Boogie & DJ Sourmilk]
Yo-yo, yo, yeah, whoa
Boogie!
Woo
I said, yo yo, aw man, goddamn oh (ooh)

[Verse: Boogie]
Come get a stroke of the best
I see you holding your breath
Might just get soaked from the stress
Watch me, I flow in the mess, emotional wreck
But in this sea of lies, we ain’t synchronized
Gotta realign, I think me diving in these DMs
Got a n*gga really out here sinking eyes
sh*t, I pray my Visa never get declined
Don’t ever ask me what my cash do
I still got problems with my phone bill
sh*t, I still ain’t even paid the past-due
Yeah, we act new when it’s hard times
We might walk lines but we tiptoe, ugh
Tried to tell ‘em how our hearts died
But the dark side got us lit, though
My weed man still got nicks, though
He forever saying how his phone tapped
Since pro clubs, been tryna go pro
I’m in another league; call it pro-Black
Nah, it’s four Blacks in this hotbox
With these cold hearts, with like four straps
Finna go back to the other side
You on borrowed time, n*gga, hold that
The homie got these Twitter quotes
I say he tripping, really, bro, stop it
This the land of the fake-woke
Being false gods get you no profit
I ain’t saying that I’m so popping
I ain’t gotta say the obvious
I got curved by, like, three singers
Man, it’s really f*cking with my confidence
You know I’m still up on that Compton sh*t
But it’s gang signs, f*ck a birth sign
I heard it’s demons that I can’t see
I need a Lasik surgery for my third eye
This the worst time
But let me surge by and power up, ugh
They burn my skin and scar my flesh
Like, “f*ck your album cuts,” ugh
See, when you high up in the sky
And you start thinking you the plug
I’m so eager for rap beef
I think that everything a sub
You know the drugs leave me impaired
I got them problems but don’t care
But know that sober-up is real
When you wake up and they still there, ugh
I’m never home, but I never left (ooh)
They full-court, but they never press
I’m the one that get a ref-and-tech
I’m really Jordan’d up in retrospect
I need that Nike check, I need a thottie next
I need to sell these diamonds
From this pressure I’m applying next, yo
Love your address
But on the West, this sh*t just feel different, ugh
Like, let some rapper come and test me
No, I’m still with it
We been with it since little children
Hit the store, split fifty cent with my n*gga
He dipping in hatred, he chipped him a n*gga
But I miss him, my n*gga
West side, west side, west side