Luyện nghe bài hát Cali Chronic

it up

Yo, when I you know the cats be out
So you got no choice but to rat me out
I call in the pen to try to see what that be 'bout
'Cuz I catch a fool and yo, his ass is out

Hud, stay on the low, pop two
Thug, against all odds, like
I'm caked up, dog-tired Jacob
Platinum, for it then wake up

For top yo, I squeeze my trigger
And Lord knows, I'll lead this
'Cuz I'm down for
Matter of fact, I'm down for the
Try to clown and get yo' ass layed forever

Niggas hate to see a G up
niggas that run up get gun up
That's the real, seen the nigga pass the
Even and yo' ass get killed, all out

is for the know-knotters
Six-fo' riders, all them are low riders
All smokers, Olde E sippers
All dead homies, and O.G. nigga's, it up
is for the know-knotters
Six-fo' riders, all them are low riders
blued out or flamed out
Mask on, ridin' with them big out, yay a yay

up the izzy-izzy ba-ba, ask yourself, why try?
Touch the brotha that's in front of you
Harlem U.S.A be the place that I come
Twenty-ninth and be that place I get the guns from
Vacant lots be the route that we used to run
Thirty-second until Jackie caught the dum-dum

It's hot now, cops now, all out eat
Close food down, send them across the street
My force overheat 'cuz the cause is
Reminiscin' all my homies I lost on the streets
Dos Bruce, LB and Stevie D
Pour some out and throw it up for a G
NRB, be the click claim to be
So if worse come to worse, do the for me

is for the know-knotters
Six-fo' riders, all ones are low riders
All weed smokers, E sippers
All homies, and O.G. nigga's, throw it up
This is for the
riders, all them ones are low riders
Whether out or flamed out
Mask on, ridin' with big things out, yay a yay

Now, we drink Colt '45, tote
Smoke we high, loc til' we die
Got locked up in
Somebody said, "Foo, you in for?"
mental', named Wendel
Did 15, and got 10 more
Oh, he was silent braille
In '83 was the with hydraulics

Caught his bid dealin' with narcotics
And had Day tons and always kept 'em
You taught me about khakis and
And if a try to move then you ball first, feel me?
But now I'm my grip
Back in the trick, come out a day is a slap on the wrist
But one never sleep on it
I from Harlem to L.A. fool, so speak on it

This is for the
Six-fo' riders, all them ones are low
All weed smokers, E sippers
All dead homies, and O.G. nigga's, it up
This is for the
Six-fo' riders, all ones are low riders
Whether blued out or out
on, ridin' with them big things out, yay a yay

This is for the
Six-fo' riders, all them are low riders
All weed smokers, Olde E
All dead homies, and O.G. nigga's, it up
This is for the
riders, all them ones are low riders
Whether out or flamed out
Mask on, ridin' with them big out, yay a yay