California

Southern California

Home of low-riding

Gang-banging and shit

California

I was raised on the streets of California

Southern California, home of car-hopping and bomb-dropping

West Coast pop locking, walking how we're talking

I was raised on the streets of California

I was raised in Californ-I-A, where homeboys die every day over some shit they say

I've always been down with hydros and cholos, the low-lows

The six threes, the six fours, the rucas with no clothes

Used to drop the two door, gang bang in a four door

Putting bullet holes in the doors of a Ford Explorer

Hardcore, and I got more and more where that came from

Welcome to my kingdom, the streets are my freedom, I need 'em, I feed 'em, I feed back

They need that, like I need my weed sack

Take a toke and watch out, where were we at?

Oh, California, the Golden State, controlling state

Pushing weight where vatos like me hallucinate

Double up while you fumble up

Fucking up, you fucking punk

If there's no room, then we'll stick 'em by the fucking pump

I was raised on the streets of California

Southern California, home of car-hopping and bomb-dropping

West Coast pop locking, walking how we're talking

I was raised on the streets of California

I was raised in Californ-I-A, where homeboys die every day over some shit they say

Slipping and dipping, gripping the wheel, locking it up

Dump the back corner, pop the front one up

Put the convertible top down, it's too good to stop now

This California living, smoke up on the ceiling

Party off the roof, off the hook, got every drug up in the book

You don't believe me, see for yourself and take a closer look

Low rider car shows, hopping till the truck blows

Catch me at the bar having a beer with my uncle

Pacifico with no lime, that's what I drink at all times

Creased up Davises, I'm always out like where the pavement is

I come from the underground, the underground like where the basement is

It's California, people have a hard time facing it

I was raised on the streets of California

Southern California, home of car-hopping and bomb-dropping

West Coast pop locking, walking how we're talking

I was raised on the streets of California

I was raised in Californ-I-A, where homeboys die every day over some shit they say

Low rider bicycles, tricycles, cold as icicles

Smoking chronic shit so high, you would think my eyes were closed

I got my eyes on those who be thinking that my eyes are closed

But they're not, ese, trucha when you get too close

You'll know that I know, what you think, I don't know

I might explode, unload, reload, and unload

You broke the code, you gots to go

Ain't no future in your fronting, crazy California homeboy

Where the cuete's busting, California styling, California riding

Whittier Boulevard back to Bristol, then back to Highland

I gots to do it like the locos do

Don't race your ride, hop your ride, like you're supposed to do, through

I was raised on the streets of California

Southern California, home of car-hopping and bomb-dropping

West Coast pop locking, walking how we're talking

I was raised on the streets of California

I was raised in Californ-I-A, where homeboys die every day over some shit they say