Luyện nghe bài hát California

Southern
of low-ridin'
Gang-bangin' and

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

I've always down with hydros
And cholos, the
The six-threes, the
The rucas with no
Used to the two-door
in a four door
Puttin' bullet
In the doors of a Explorer
Hard-core, and I got and more
Where that came
to my kingdom
The are my freedom
I em', I feed em', I feedback
need that, like I need my weed sack
Take a toque,
Where we at?
Oh, California the golden
Controllin' states, weight
Where vatos me hallucinate
up while you fumble up
Fuckin' up, you fuckin'
If no room
Then stick em' by the fuckin' pump

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

Slippin' and dippin', grippin' the
it up
Dump the corner
Pop the one up
Put the top down
It's too to stop now
This livin'
Smoke up on the
at the roof, off the hook
Got drug up in the book
You believe me
See for and take a closer look
Low rider car
till the truck blows
me at the bar
Havin' a drink with my
Pacifico with no
That's what I at all times
Creased up Davis', I'm out like where the pavement is
I come from the
The underground like where the is
It's California, people a hard time facin' it

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 homeboys die over some shit they say)

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

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