R. Cali

Niggas pistol poppin like it's 1999/
I was 9, maybe 10, then again, nevermind/
press rewind, back in time, before rappers droppin dimes/
Trap or die, chopping pies, with clichés all in they rhymes/
Now it's Gucci, Prada, and anything designer/
Money, power, the whole enchilada/
Commas, dollars, the greens and the guava/
They serve you to your flocka
If you disrespect that blocka, blocka/
Choppers on eavesdroppers
Fuck these choppers I'm about it/
Grinding like 2Pac with Biggie Poppa
Yeah, you outer but I'm hotter, right/
Carjacking, pistol packing, motherfucking choppers clapping/
Metal jacket automatic magazines, head on traffic/
Window smashing, windows crashing
Pants sagging, fuck your fashion
Yeah, a nigga run Manhattan
Back in Cali's where it happen/
It's Gucci, Escada, and anything designer/
Groupies, poppers, they all gonna swallow/
It was probably the robbers, the goons and the goblins/
They hating a lot, medulla oblongata/

(Bridge) (Goin back to Cali)

Maserati, like Atari, with no car keys, push to start it/
New Buggatti, two Bugattis
Tesla Roadster, new Ferrari/
Lamborghini, system bumping
Me no worried, Rastafari/
This the hardest, supersonic
Systematic, too retarded/
New Versace, new apartment
Bigger closet, newer carpet
Hit departments, cool it all
Must set my goal if you accomplish
Shoot a target, you the target
Moving targets, new accomplish
Kill the game but still regardless
Beat the charges, do the honors