MC Eiht - Wavin The Pistol lyrics

[Chorus: x2]

Anytime y'all wanna go

Motherfuckers, just let us know

Wherever you at, we kick in the do'

And start wavin the pistol

[Verse 1]

I'm a nigga, still struggle in the Compton streets

West coast all day til my life's complete

Like my homie W.C., you don't work, you don't eat

Try to drown out the gunshots wit loud beats

True son of the ghetto, No doubt I'ma ball

Live my life reckless like it snow tomorrow

I win any fuckin shoot 'em up contest

It's no disputin which side's the best

Have gun, niggaz will travel

Stay up on it, motherfucker till they slam the gavel

We slang, we jack, We do drive-bys

We fuck wit hoodrats and always stay high

Some shit that we go through

Finger pointing, motherfucker like we know you

Compton, motherfucker, hard act to follow

And ya pride hard to swallow, like love from the hollow

[Chorus]

[Verse 2]

Eiht motherfucker, Always so hood

Catch me in the streets cause nigga it's all good

Only heavy bodyguard I roll wit is the metal

Like a stunt driver when I'm pushin the pedal

Knuckle to knuckle, Don't buckle bob and weave

Reveal the compton tat up under my sleeve

Behind it wit the trigger finger like I was steve

Got the whole town talkin like I was fuckin eve

I'm a product of the pre N.W.A

Wit the quality product tryin to double my pay

To live and die in compton and L.A

It's about one victim like everyday

Fist fight in the liquor store parking lot

Shoot a nigga when he sit up in ya parking spot

Little hustle tryin to make a lot

Like a little bg and his first spot

Geah

[Chorus]

[Verse 3]

You got guns, We got straps

We true to these murder raps, We peel caps

We ain't snitches motherfucker, We just take the charge

That's why I skip bail, Then ran, I'm still at large

These hood niggaz televise game for sale

Wannabe motherfuckers in the game should tell

Compton, We gained much respect

You better duck down when the shells eject

And ya little frail chest or vest won't protect

From this true westside compton connect

On ya front porch, Play connect the red dots

Like a photographer aiming for head shots

04, you get eight the hard way

Even in broad day, the sound of ricochet

This ain't denzel on the set, it's been hell

E wit the four-o federal mail

Geah

[Chorus x2]