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 from the pen to try to see what that be
'Cuz I catch a slip and yo, his ass is out

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

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

hate to see a G come up
Young niggas run up get gun up
That's the real, the nigga pass the steel
wink and yo' ass get killed, all out

This is for the
Six-fo' riders, all them ones are low
All smokers, Olde E sippers
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' them big things out, yay a yay

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

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

is for the know-knotters
Six-fo' riders, all them ones are low
All smokers, Olde 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
on, ridin' with them 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?"
Jail mental', Wendel
Did 15, and got 10 more
Oh, he was silent than
In '83 was the first with

Caught his first bid dealin' with
And had Day tons and kept 'em polished
You me about khakis and converse
And if a foo' try to move then you ball first, 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 went from Harlem to L.A. fool, so on it

This is for the
Six-fo' riders, all ones are low riders
All weed smokers, Olde E
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
Mask on, ridin' with big things out, yay a yay

is for the know-knotters
Six-fo' riders, all ones 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 big things out, yay a yay