California lyrics
by Glasses Malone
[Verse 1: Quincey White]
We could hit Broadway, Slauson, or Crenshaw. Or the Sunset strip is you with it dogg? Its hard to choose when a n*gga got 10 cars. Wanna race I ain't gotta take my rims off. On the hood You stupid if you think my sh*t stock., and you ain't gotta pop the hood to see my sh*t hot. I could barely hit the gas, and I peel out. Burn so much rubber should’ve brought some other wheels out. The reals out, real bloods, real crips, and cholos in one function. No guns, fighting, or po-po’s. Better learn about that dress code B's and C's. Them other n*ggas copycats but these is G's. I love Cali like I love women. They wanna hear that real sh*t, and we the ones to give it. Don't criticize where I stay. I get luv from Daygo to the Bay, n*gga 2 Live & Die in LA
[Chorus: Quincey White]
They say all we good for is gang banging, and palm trees, palm trees, palm trees
Bad b*tches, sunny beaches, and bomb weed, bomb weed, bomb weed
Chuck Taylors, Cortez, white tees, and bandanas. Red flag, Blue flag, Brown Flag
It’s a Liquor store and Swap Meet in every corner
[Verse 2: Glasses Malone]
I slide it to the ceiling, Youtube it I'm in Athens in a Bentley. Youtube it west side for the hood day. Im the realest n*gga did it once you press play. n*gga named it then I pushed it. Who wants some sherm b*tch I cook it. How many gallons have your racks right. Let em know the waterboy coming back for one night. I know the ones listening (f*ck em) who wanna dip? Lake Michigan. n*gga michellin wrapped forgiato’s. My b*tch do her lean with moscato. Scottie beam her up. I seen a lot of paper I ain't never seen enough. C’s love a n*gga B’s love me more. The hoes love a n*gga, you know I love these hoes
[Chorus: Quincey White]
They say all we good for is gang banging, and palm trees, palm trees, palm trees
Bad b*tches, sunny beaches, and bomb weed, bomb weed, bomb weed
Chuck Taylors, Cortez, white tees, and bandanas. Red flag, Blue flag, Brown Flag
It’s a Liquor store and Swap Meet in every corner
[Verse 3: Skeme]
n*ggas politicking who the realest is. I got grown man money, boy you still a kid. Rapping bout some sh*t that you ain't ever lived. And yall know where I’m at sh*t yall ain't never here. Born on a silver moon without a silver spoon. Counted my dirty money in my granny living room. Never took a break b*tch, no interludes. Ain't got time to play with n*ggas. I ain't in the mood. I might play dumb, but never been a fool. Life lessons teach you quick what crooked n*gga do. Most these rappers act the same way these b*tches do. But I just roll with the punches you know, stick and move. Show and prove. Ball or fall pray you don’t fold if ever your back against the wall. Came in this sh*t with nothing, now we want it all. Road to the riches just praying my engine never stall
[Chorus: Quincey White]
They say all we good for is gang banging, and palm trees, palm trees, palm trees
Bad b*tches, sunny beaches, and bomb weed, bomb weed, bomb weed
Chuck Taylors, Cortez, white tees, and bandanas. Red flag, Blue flag, Brown Flag
It’s a Liquor store and Swap Meet in every corner