| You might find me in the | |
| Century Club | |
| Fresh kicks, fresh cut, pocket full of dubs | |
| Box of Altoids for my paranoid niggaz actin foul | |
| Stop smokin if you can't be proud | |
| Adult star night, not another bar fight | |
| Inglewood players actin right in the spotlight | |
| Me I'm righter than invisible set | |
| I'm visibly wet, slurrin and | |
| I'm lookin for my pet | |
| I pass to the massa with her whip on her, ask her | |
| If she sippin wit'cha bird, if she not we move past her | |
| And I ain't hatin | |
| I'm just diggin ya ass girl | |
| Is that the collagen shot, is that what'cha momma got? | |
| I'm so rugged, bullet wound in back of the axe handle blunt force trauma kinda tuggin | |
| And I ain't never been what the cat drug on | |
| B-Real Quik's to keep ya mean muggin | |
| California clownin, bounce to sundown | |
| In the moonlight groovin, trippin off the saloon fight | |
| We Fandango, the next day hangover got me feelin like | |
| I hit a train with my | |
| Range Rover [Chorus: B-Real] | |
| Feel free to lose your mind, let'cha brain go | |
| **** the tango do the | |
| Fandango Triple step, right left, then you let'cha dame go | |
| Spin around 'til you get a hangover | |
| Take your doo rag off, let your brain grow | |
| **** the tango do the | |
| Fandango Triple step, right left, then you let'cha man go | |
| Spin around 'til you get a hangover [B-Real] | |
| Watch me climb out the whip with the bird on my hip | |
| She wanna set it off in the club, don't trip | |
| We crack a bottle and all my fam take a sip | |
| Any haters wanna pop at the lip, we come equipped | |
| We get the paper and the savor the flavor but never forget about the haters who constantly imitate us | |
| Homey we creators and players and rhyme sayers for layers of words, let me say it in terms that you can understand | |
| So clearly, you feelin me fam? | |
| She's on the floor cause of my homey | |
| Quik man And she hits the mall but you don't really understand | |
| Yeah I seen it before but now it's gettin out of hand | |
| Mami's diggin for more, and she's posin for the cam | |
| Little beef got the dancefloor slammed | |
| No tango, straight | |
| Fandango Birds flock to us like heads to | |
| Kangols, c'mon [Chorus] [DJ Quik] | |
| I'm a master in disguise, movin swiftly to the thighs | |
| Move faster than me, then | |
| I recognize | |
| That I ain't really got nuttin to hide | |
| But the bratwurst skinny girl second, fat girls first | |
| And Compton is still on my mind | |
| I remember when we used to get scared when they got behind us | |
| One-time sayin they been tryin to find us | |
| But they got the wrong niggaz, never mind us | |
| My tongue tumbles like | |
| I'm bumblebee stung | |
| Rip out the stinger, you keep talkin shit | |
| I whip out the ringer | |
| How many times does it have to end right before 12:00 | |
| A.M., why you packin a | |
| Slim Jim? | |
| I gets down on the mic like | |
| I rode down on a bike | |
| Road rash, skin peelin tonight | |
| The club ain't never crackin 'til the haters be gone | |
| We need to build the eliminator hater light, and put it on 'em [Chorus] |
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