Luyện nghe bài hát California

Southern
Home of
and shit

I was raised in the of California
(Southern California, home of and bomb-droppin'
West coast pop lockin', how we're talkin')
I was raised in the of California
(I was raised in
Where die everyday over some shit they say)

I've been down with hydros
And cholos, the
The six-threes, the
The rucas no clothes
Used to the two-door
Gang-bang in a door
Puttin' holes
In the doors of a Explorer
Hard-core, and I got more and
Where came from?
Welcome to my
The are my freedom
I need em', I em', I feedback
They need that, I need my weed sack
Take a toque,
Where we at?
Oh, the golden state
states, pushin' weight
Where vatos me hallucinate
Double up you fumble up
Fuckin' up, you fuckin'
If no room
we'll stick em' by the fuckin' pump

I was in the streets of California
(Southern California, home of and bomb-droppin'
coast pop lockin', walkin' how we're talkin')
I was raised in the streets of
(I was raised in
homeboys die everyday over some shit they say)

Slippin' and dippin', the wheel
it up
Dump the back
Pop the one up
Put the convertable top
too good to stop now
This California
Smoke up on the
Party at the roof, off the
Got every up in the book
You don't me
See for yourself and a closer look
Low car shows
Hoppin' the truck blows
me at the bar
Havin' a drink my uncles
Pacifico no lime
what I drink at all times
Creased up Davis', I'm always out like where the is
I come from the
The underground where the basement is
It's California, people have a hard facin' it

I was raised in the of California
(Southern California, of car-hoppin' and bomb-droppin'
West coast pop lockin', how we're talkin')
I was raised in the of California
(I was raised in
Where homeboys die everyday some shit they say)

Low bicycles, tricycles
Cold as
Smokin' shit
So high, you think my eyes are closed
I got my eyes on
Who be thinkin' that my are closed
But not ese
Trucha when you get too
You'll know, I know
What you think, I don't
I explode, unload
Reload, and
You broke the code, you to go
no future in your frontin'
Crazy homeboy
Where the cuete's
California stylin', ridin'
Whittier to 'Frisco
Then back to
I gots to do it the locos do
Don't your ride
Hop your ride you're supposed to do, through

I was in the streets of California
(Southern California, of car-hoppin' and bomb-droppin'
West pop lockin', walkin' how we're talkin')
I was raised in the streets of
(I was in Californ-I-A
Where die everyday over some shit they say)