Album: Golden Grain





Just get on down [8x]



[Chorus]



North, North, South, South, East, East, West, West [4x]



Shit, Got a nigga gone off a fifth of Fayo and apple juice

Throw up a deuce, Keep my hat banged to the left and ain't scared to act a fool

So what you gone do, you betta not speak unless spoken to cause I bust that shit'it

Dump that Philly, I could back dro wit a lac wit a yak, gettin drunk off in it

Through the Chi like North, North, South, South

Niggas talk shit put that work in they mouth

In the East, East, West, West, niggas bust back put a slug in ya chest

Cause I'm hood, hood, gutter, gutter

Shauna got juice like a muh'fucka

Hood of the hustlas and bloodsuckas

Back in the bricks wit that good



[Chorus]



Fep, in the spot, buyin yak wit my balla camp

All them bitches holla'n bout is (Where them fuckin dollas at)

Yeeah, I got them hos, I got them O's, I got Air phones for those hos

And yeeah, I got white phones, got black phones, I got crack weed in the floor

So get on the grind, Get on some lime,Get on mine, let ya mind take course

Got dip in the ride, Switchin the tires, Whippin the fire 85 Chevy Sport

See if you got 16's, I will make that pliz'ay

And I'm dressed like a dope boy, throwin up them triz'eys



East side, whole Masterfield rainbow

Flight soles, kinda roll where them thangs blow

Good wood, not wastin that payroll

Five hos trapped, boys got rapers

My size got air nigga rep that

We ride, rock sells and I bet that

Car is a gutless, pistol is a must bitch

Let a nigga know that his head I will bust quick

Some slum niggas know what I'm talkin bout

Lil rob fillin hos in the parkin lot

Gimme head while I'm bustin that two track

It was trill, hit the fence, never looked back

Big thug, hit clubs in the fifth book

Dollar Boy, let em know how to rip folk

If a bitch broke, gotta let her slide, though

2-0 represent East side ho



[Chorus]



Hell, I'm up in the club, 4 whippin up, just throwin up pitch forks to (what, what)

Tupac, I'm a rider, hoppin out, Gangsta crip disciples (Yeeah!)

Wilin on the side of the club and dressed in blood colors, waitin on a sign to (Yeeah!)

Pull out the gats and attack on them boys that thought that

(they thought it couldn't happen)

They blastin and screamin, we ain't friends, ain't no need to pretend

(Shawty!) Split the mens, for my homey that got killed last weekend

His brains was left leakin while his body got cold

Now it's y'all life that y'all owe

Time to even the score, case closed



[Chorus (2x)]

[Scratching]