California

(Lil' Rob Talking) Southern California Home of low-ridin' Gang-bangin' and shit California (Chorus)(Lil' Rob) I was raised on the streets of California in California (Southern California, home of car-hoppin' and bomb-droppin' West coast pop lockin', walkin' how we're talkin') I was raised on the streets of California in California (I was raised in Californ-I-A Where homeboys die everyday over some shit they say) (Verse 1) I've always been down with hydros And cholos, the low-lows The six-threes, the six-fours The rucas with no clothes Used to drop the two-door Gang-bang in a four door Puttin' bullet holes In the doors of a Ford Explorer Hard-core, and I got more and more Where that came from? Welcome to my kingdom The streets are my freedom I need em', I feed em', I feedback They need that, like I need my weed sack Take a toque, wacha Where were we at? Oh, California the golden state Controllin' states, pushin' weight Where vatos like me hallucinate Double up while you fumble up Fuckin' up, you fuckin' punk If there's no room Then we'll stick em' by the fuckin' pump (Chorus) (Verse 2) Slippin' and dippin', grippin' the wheel Lockin' it up Dump the back corner Pop the front one up Put the convertable top down It's too good to stop now This California livin' Smoke up on the ceilin' Party at the roof, off the hook Got every drug up in the book You don't believe me See for yourself and take a closer look Low rider car shows Hoppin' till the truck blows Catch me at the bar Havin' a drink with my uncles Pacifico with no lime That's what I drink at all times Creased up Davis' I'm always out like where the pavement is I come from the underground The underground like where the basement is It's California, people have a hard time facin' it (Chorus) (Verse 3) Lowrider bicycles, tricycles Cold as icycles Smokin' chronic shit So high, you would think my eyes are closed I got my eyes on those Who be thinkin' that my eyes are closed But there not ese Trucha when you get too close You'll know, that I know What you think? I don't know I might explode, unload Reload, and unload You broke the code, you got's to go Ain't no future in your frontin' Crazy California homeboy Where the cuete's bustin' California stylin', California ridin' Whittier Boulevard to 'Frisco Then back to Highland I gots to do it like the locos do Don't race your ride Hop your ride like you're supposed to do, through (Chorus)