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Harlem World
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Cali Chronic
Lyricist:Deric Angelettie, Mason Betha, Leroy Bonner, Ameen Burns, Michael Foster, Chauncey Hawkins, Andre Hudson, Marhsall Jones, Ralph Middlebrooks, Walter Morris, Walter Morrison, Norman Napier, Andrew Noland, Marvin Pierce, Gregory Webster
Turn it up
Yo, when I roll you know the cats be out So you cowards got no choice but to rat me out I call in from the pen to try to see what that be 'bout 'Cuz I catch a fool slip and yo, his ass is out
Hud, stay on the low, pop two cops Thug, against all odds, like Tupac I'm caked up, dog-tired from Jacob Platinum, reach for it then wake up
For top dollar yo, I squeeze my trigger And Lord knows, I'll lead this nigga 'Cuz I'm down for whatever Matter of fact, I'm down for the cheddar Try to clown and get yo' ass layed down forever
Niggas hate to see a G come up Young niggas that run up get gun up That's the real, seen the nigga pass the steel Even wink and yo' ass get killed, all out
This is for the know-knotters Six-fo' riders, all them ones are low riders All weed smokers, Olde E sippers All dead homies, and O.G. nigga's, throw it up This is for the know-knotters Six-fo' riders, all them ones are low riders Whether blued out or flamed out Mask on, ridin' with them big things out, yay a yay
Light up the izzy-izzy ba-ba, ask yourself, why try? Touch the untouchable brotha that's in front of you Harlem U.S.A be the place that I come from Twenty-ninth and Lenox be that place I get the guns from Vacant lots be the route that we used to run from Thirty-second precinct until Jackie caught the dum-dum
It's hot now, cops now, all out gotta eat Close food shop down, send them across the street My force overheat 'cuz the cause is cheap Reminiscin' all my homies that I lost on the streets Dos Bruce, LB and even Stevie D Pour some liquor out and throw it up for a G NRB, be the click they claim to be Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com So if worse come to worse, do the same for me
This is for the know-knotters Six-fo' riders, all them ones are low riders All weed smokers, Olde E sippers All dead homies, and O.G. nigga's, throw it up This is for the know-knotters Six-fo' riders, all them ones are low riders Whether blued out or flamed out Mask on, ridin' with them big things out, yay a yay
Now, we drink Colt '45, tote 45's Smoke 'til we high, loc til' we die Got locked up in Crenshaw Somebody said, 'Foo, what you in for?' Jail mental', named Wendel Did 15, and got about 10 more Oh, he was silent than braille In '83 was the first with hydraulics
Caught his first bid dealin' with narcotics And had Day tons and always kept 'em polished You taught me about khakis and converse And if a foo' try to move then you ball first, feel me? But now I'm stackin' my grip Back in the trick, come out a day early is a slap on the wrist But one time never sleep on it I went from Harlem to L.A. fool, so speak on it
This is for the know-knotters Six-fo' riders, all them ones are low riders All weed smokers, Olde E sippers All dead homies, and O.G. nigga's, throw it up This is for the know-knotters Six-fo' riders, all them ones are low riders Whether blued out or flamed out Mask on, ridin' with them big things out, yay a yay
This is for the know-knotters Six-fo' riders, all them ones are low riders All weed smokers, Olde E sippers All dead homies, and O.G. nigga's, throw it up This is for the know-knotters Six-fo' riders, all them ones are low riders Whether blued out or flamed out Mask on, ridin' with them big things out, yay a yay
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