Anita E

Tipping through the hood in the '64. Classic shit, make you really feel like this the West Coast. Home of the gangbang, Churches, and the liquor stores. Big homies politicking, you know how that shit go. Sailing up big strawberries and some thick hoes. Stop to get a styrofoam of ice and some New pros. Holla at the homie, he from Lane, It's been a minute. Fresh coat of paint on That thing, still dripping. He said, "Watch out for them niggas round the Way, they be tripping." Bullet holes in the building just to show you How we living. Just when everything is cool, Niggas bust another mission. But we ain't worried 'bout it, keep it pimping. Palm trees, cool breeze keep a nigga calm. Helicopter bird flying 'round like it's Vietnam. You're my angel, baby, just like that Anita song. I bend the corner, she put fifteen hundred in My palm. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Yeah, yeah. Yeah, yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Yeah, yeah. And Dre, Eastside, uh. I learned the game from my bro, your bitch Open like a door. I got so many hoes 'til I don't know Where to go. Fool, I got so many flows 'til I should open a store. 'Cause the game is for sure to be sold, Not told. I roll up another doobie as the Saga unfold. Been the same since a nigga was zero years Old. Frozen cold, solid gold anchor and rope. Got the puffy Gucci links and the Hugo Boss Robe. Sunglasses, Kangols, champagne strobe. Taking selfies, clocking bitches, feeling like Nino. Brown New Jack City, but my old head's with It. School me so when I get it, I know what to do with it. Yeah, uh. Tipping through the hood, collecting my cake. My lil' nigga say he move three today. On the road to riches, remember you gotta drive Safe. Gather 'round for this hot shit, I'm a fireplace. First place in any race. I'm just tryna cop a truck without having to Kill a nigga. I really don't feel these niggas. Wasn't up in the conversation, then you should mind Your business, baby. Fucked up, but we hustle in front them lil' Children. We just tryna feed 'em all, praying that They free my dogs. Riding 'round dirty, Hope I don't get pulled over by the laws. 'Cause if I do, they gon' be screaming, "Free Me too." Thirty years straight for this iron I Got on my waist. Every day, niggas adding on To the murder rate. Hope we safe like sliding at home plate, Yeah. You're my angel, baby, just like that Anita Song. I'ma smoke this weed with you after you Bring that paper home, yeah.