SOUTH CENTRAL CARTEL - West Coast Gangstas lyrics


4 deep on the creep, I gots the Tecs on prraahh..

Take the safety off lock, exterminate your block

Leavin do' holes with .44's and 20-gauge rifles and Tecs

And breakin' niggas' necks like bad checks

Outrageous with 12 gauges, 'L.A. Times' front pages

Leaving mingled bodies hangin' on stages

Collapse niggas with raps, caps niggas with straps

Smoking on the bomb, eyes tighter than Japs

Rollin' evil with the Desert Eagle, schemin' Young Prod

When the squad's in the house: oh my God, a homicide

Is 'bout to committed, admit it

You seen the Tec and you shitted

Nickel-plate in your face, a .38

Competin, strangle the evil with low blows

I dips fo' low with bad hoes, the saga unfolds

The S.C. script had to design shit to wreck your mental

Bitch, and plant a fuckin' slug in your temple


[Chorus: L.V. & PRODEJE]

The West Coast Gangstas still O.G.'s

Sportin' khakis and Chucks and B.V.T's.

Swervin through your hood in a blue low-low

Sportin' Carhartt jeans with a chrome 4-4


G maneouvres, increasin my retaliation

Shob niggas provoke could equal to your devastation

My motivation is lyrication, the philosophation

Acquired by the gangsta's inspiration

Mentally loc'd I'm smokin' tracks like it's blunted

I'm frontin' 'bout .44 mags and G rags

My khakis, t-shirt and Chucks stun ya

I zap you like a genie

You try to escape like Whodini

You plastic

I'm boombastic like that muthafucka Shaggy

The Cartel keeps the groove nasty

You tried to fade, but got eleminated, tried the differential

But couldn't fade the fuckin' instrumental

My mental compound exploitin' the hoods and towns

Breakin' it down, and if you trippin', yo' ass is clowned

It's Mr. Prod comin' cutthroat, live through the wire

The West Coast G's is on fire


[??? & YOUNG PROD:]

Freestylin' to a instrumental in a rental

Q-fo'-fever, evil side finna leave a

Nigga leakin, blood seekin' for the weekend

Headhuntin like a dome-servin' freak and

Mental scheme we G's this, we locs like that

We grab Macs and reacts to open niggas' backs

Welcome to the dome of terror, the era of the evil side

Take niggas out the run like drive-by's

Come come, test this, let's just

See yo' face taste [???] just this

No mistakin, [???] we're money-makin'

We grab the g's, get the ki's and we shake it

It ain't too easy to find me

Young Prod run games like _Jumanji_

My 9 blow minds everytime I dump

Takin' niggas' chests out and lump

Evil Side, servin' muthafuckas from the back to the front

Don't front, so where ya at?

In the back of the homie's 'Lac

Cockin' a strap, finna take a muthafucka off the mat

I got your back - back at ya, nigga

Pull the triggers, slugs to niggas' mugs

Forever Evil Side, straight gangsta


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