|
Poke your elbows out and swing like this |
|
Poke your elbows out and swing like this (hold up) |
|
[Verse 1:] |
|
Rock got it, Rock came from rock bottom, now I'm on top |
|
Pocket full of guacamole in it, no lie |
|
The windows on the Continental tinted cocaine colored, it's a dope ride |
|
Them dope boys outside |
|
Gangbangers, crack heads and hood rats |
|
Drug paraphenelia inside that back pack |
|
If you want it we got it, that's where them goods at |
|
Nickerson Gardens, project parties |
|
Chronic, Hennessey, dro, Bacardi |
|
Guns, enemies that come through, spark them |
|
Throw 'em in a dumpster; you loved one, you lost him |
|
I don't dance I just boogie a lot |
|
No dress code I just wear a hoodie a lot |
|
White tee under that back against the wall |
|
West coast rocking to the beat, now I'm telling y'all |
|
(Chorus) |
|
Poke your elbows out and swing like this |
|
Poke your elbows out and swing like this (homie) |
|
Poke your elbows out and swing like this |
|
Poke your elbows out and swing like this |
|
[Kendrick Lamar] |
|
Whatever you want to call it |
|
For the weed heads or for the alcoholics |
|
Now this can be some OG low-rider music |
|
Or you could twist your fingers up and gangbang to it, gangbang to it |
|
[Verse 2:] |
|
Look, I know some bad ass bitches that go hard on it |
|
Addicted to that sex, they be traveling in packs |
|
They be off that X, and they'll let you fuck fast if you got some cess |
|
I ain't gon lie about it |
|
I ain't bullshitting, come to my block boy |
|
Welcome to Hell's kitchen, we bring that heat to you |
|
Too much of a real nigga not to see through you |
|
Wet him like faucet, bullet sink through you |
|
They speed through you, they eat through you |
|
Two lullaby burners, let em sing to you |
|
The harmony of it is pleasure to your ears |
|
You got to love it (nah) you got to hate it |
|
I got to be my hometown favourite |
|
Watts representer, say hello your mayor |
|
Everybody put them Ws in the air |
|
May I show you the plan I lay out |
|
My disc will never play out, I tell y'all to |
|
(Chorus) |
|
[Verse 3:] |
|
Swing your elbows and Taylors, the shell-toes |
|
Kush blunts all in the air, I smell lows |
|
Cop the swap meets to freaks on Melrose |
|
This is California, killers on them corners |
|
From Long Beach to Inglewood, Hollywood |
|
Back down, them gangsters will be on you |
|
Block hot as a sauna |
|
We in the club, zoning, Patroning |
|
My knuckleheads roaming, they on and we on it |
|
It's jerkin, poppin, brackin, whatever you want to call it |
|
What's happening, we smashing, crashing your hood |
|
My nigga what's good? |
|
Staying sucker-free, just as well as you should |
|
I pull up in that motherfucking big-ass truck |
|
What the fuck? I'm on |
|
Where your bitch? She's gone with a real nigga |
|
I hop up out that ho asking how you feel nigga |
|
I press blood; throw your sets up! |
|
(Chorus) |
