Luyện nghe bài hát Cali Chronic

it up

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

Hud, on the low, pop two cops
Thug, all odds, like Tupac
I'm caked up, from Jacob
Platinum, for it then wake up

For top dollar yo, I squeeze my
And knows, I'll lead this nigga
I'm down for whatever
Matter of fact, I'm for the cheddar
Try to and get yo' ass layed down forever

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is for the
riders, all them ones 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 ones are low riders
blued out or flamed out
Mask on, with them big things out, yay a yay