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Crestside, It's tha Triple C |
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Crestside, It's poppin' in tha Crestside |
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Crestside, Livin' that pimp life |
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Tryin' to get a pimp ride |
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[Mac Mall] |
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Shit, I'll take ya way back |
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Spittin' game longer than the gateway track |
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It must have been a blessin' raised as an adolescent |
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And mack 11 testin' in tha glass house |
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Straight twamped out cuz hang gotta Caddy on them thangs |
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Wit a phat-ass TV, so at age 9 I wanted that to be me |
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And now big A.C. can make in million on the Vegas strip |
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Since 1976 we been infuenced by pimps |
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And y'all suckas, is lucky that Smooth can't walk |
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Cuz a lot of y'all fools would be outlined in chalk |
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And I'd like to say what's up, to my nigga Ronny Wenn |
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He's a G when it comes to strugglin' hustlin' |
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To the top, Rest in Peace to Pop and Chris Macabee |
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He put the Mac in me, Thats why I ride a brome today |
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Straight game, the crestside way, we goin' pop all day |
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Whether weed or Yay, I'm still stressin' cuz it seems like last night |
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We lost |
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Mike, |
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S double, and damn God needs to let the real nigga's live, |
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But Nokey is gone and Freddy is dead |
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In the Crestside |
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[Chorus] |
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Now 95 is the day and soldiers shootin' for the game, |
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Big Buggy's a straight killa servin' rocks on the way |
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The Double R hit them banks wit' glocks in the Pelican Bay |
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You disrespect the Country Club and fool prepare for the shank, |
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This ain't no overnight shit |
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We been at this for years |
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Back when Finch rolled a Benz and Baby Frank was gettin' his |
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So if you ask me, why my fondest memories is bout' shootouts |
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And high speeds with the police |
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Spill Hennessey for D-Boy and house Dubee, |
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It's us against them so I stay true to the triple C |
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6' in the morn choppin' quit low on the St's set up shop |
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Throughout the "V" to move the next key |
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Rivals be snitchin' but cook em' all in a crock pot |
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Floss old schools on gold shoes and let the hoes jock |
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Crestside shit, Aliens wanna copy-cat |
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All in a city full of squares, playa's, and dirty mack's |
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Wanna-be gangsta's, and small tymer's tryin' to act hard |
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Well real-ass soldiers, a chosen few rollin' like hard |
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North of Vallejo, cuddies puttin' in the major work |
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Open your eyes and take a look at my crazy turf. |
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It's called the... |
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[Chorus] |
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Back when that Piggy P was a crooked cop |
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Back when that K St. mob ruled the Kemper block |
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Back when we said fuck the world, because we loved Benz |
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Do you remeber Figgaro and tryin' to hustle for ends |
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Hopin' that I stick to my grind and stay real to the street |
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One day I'll talk on Mobile phones and have a Chevy Caprice |
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Wit a couple of mounts and some slam in my trunk |
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And a spliff of that zesty cuz we don't fuck wit' them blunts |
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But in this day and age cuddy, this done got ill |
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Youngsta's that won't a mill and ain't afraid to kill |
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What the crooked game deals baby bloods gettin' spilled |
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Now it's blunt packin' chumps that try to set up shop where we chill |
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So it's all to the hood cuz when we mob I'm stayin' hip to the time, |
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Got my mind on my money keep one hand on my nine |
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On the same street corner where I was brought up and raised |
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The only chance I get for peace is when I'm drunk or I'm blazed |
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If this shit soundin' far-fetched and you think that I lied |
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Grab your nuts nigga , we goin' for a ride through the Crestside |
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[Do Thangs] |
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This game don't stop from the Crestside |
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O.G.'s young pimps, playa's thats right |
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[Chorus x3] |
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[Do Thangs] |
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This game don't stop from the Crestside |
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Tec nines, mack joints nigga thats right |
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This game don't stop from the Crestside |
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O.G.'s young pimps, playa's thats right |
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One Luv, |
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Dolomite |
