In the criminal mindstate, I'm ridin' with' a California crime rate. Nigga's is dyin', gotta get that money. So I, load the clip in the .45 ever since my brother died, been on a murda mission with' pistols: Hollywood homicide. Critics said Compton died with' Eazy. One hand on the Holy Koran, I'm a ride foe E, betta believe it. In the 6-4 Impala heavily weeded. God as my witness, Compton is alive and breathin'. A nigga with' a attitude and Bone Thugs: we ready to die, ready to ride. I set death in his eyes.(Yeah!) Part the Red Sea with' a heckler(?) and couch(?); walk through the valley of death with' a vest and a glock. And why bury Christopher Wallace? Cali's stressin' for Pac. In my Jam J's I bust a shot for Scott LaRock. My life is real like 50's beef with' Ja. The A-Team got the West on lock, mothafucka's.
We the original criminals, therefore there be no replications or second guessin'. A nation, thug invasion got these sucka's shakin'. You been waitin' and anticipatin' the makin' and the arrival of my thug congregation: A.K.A. Desperado's. It ain't hard to spot us either, follow the trails of the hollow shells, as well as the rotten smell of body stales. How many you nigga's is ready to get down and dirty? Watch me spit rounds like a thirty-thirty; word up. And you can just put on an instrumental and let a nigga run. It'll be like givin' me be a gun, 'cause I'm a kill everybody, 'cause you know ya can't fuck with' the tongue. I come with' the extra explicit, illicit, wicked. Call me Mr.; sawed-off'll hit ya. Now take the time out and pick yo' shit up. Get up peela's, it's the real nigga. The soldier field nigga. Roll in control nigga's, and we roll with' cold killa's. So, ya betta back up off us 'fore we blast ya off us. And if you think we jokin' you'll be laughin' in a coffin (coffin, coffin, coffin).
Original nigga's pump-pump, say whatchuwando? ('wando?)
Original killa's pump-pump, say whatchuwando? ('wando?) [x2]