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letra de east bay gangster (reggae mix) - spice 1

[verse 1]
welcome to the ghetto, and this is the place
young n-ggas be throwin’ the rocks up your face
my homie g be yellin’, “yo, it’s like a holdup”
i’m pullin’ my gat to make the motherf-cker fold up
in my jag on my phone talkin’ business
mac 10 to my dome — yo, what is this?
i’m tellin’ him, “drop it, yo, let’s box and we can go a round”
he dropped his gat, i picked it up and blew his ass down
i know it’s scandalous but it’s simple, f-ck a dirty back
i’d rather hear my uzi rat-a-ta-ta-tat-tat
it’s for protection, not to k!ll or break a n-gga’s bones
back to the story, here’s the story, b, the story on
his guts were scattered, he was splattered up against the wall
my homie g was on my phone buggin’ off my call
i tried to smash but i’m lookin’ at some high beams
into the eyes of some motherf-ckin’ dope fiend
he seen me shoot him so i shot him, blew his ass off
i shot my uzi up in the air and then i smashed off
i’m rollin’ thicker than a milkshake
i like to eat crab but i prefer steak
i ain’t no joke, motherf-cker, so don’t play yourself
i flip you over, fry your ass like a patty melt
and if you ever disrespect me, i’ma bank ya
so say “what up” to the motherf-ckin’ east bay gangsta
[bridge]
meneme gots to use my 9 ’cause 5-0 bombed the ak-uh
the 187, the posse robbed the bank anyway-uh
legal or illegal, it’s the way of the bay-uh
the government keep the profit off cocaine anyway
me shootin’ ’em up, me shootin’ ’em up if he don’t give me my pay-uh
the n-ggas up on the block, they send for me every day-uh
a thousand every day will keep the 5-0 away-uh
just call me east bay g-a-n-g-s-t-a-uh

[verse 2]
looked in my mirror close range right behind me
tinted windows up in the benz 190
i ain’t no dummy, knew right off he’s tryna k!ll me
if i don’t smash, full of buckshots he will fill me
hangin’ out the car, shots scatter, windows shatter, trouble
i’ll shoot him up, bathed in his blood like mr. bubble
1-87, did i do it with an ak?
another day, a n-gga dead up in the alleyway
why did i do it? it’s my pistol and i packed it
i think they need to lock my ass up in a straitjacket
so all you suckas, listen close to this warnin’
while i get into your ass like charmin
funky sh-t that’s so dope, it numb your mouth up
you ever shuck me, i’ma blow your f-ckin’ house up
and if you ever disrespect me, i’ma bank ya
so say “what up” to the motherf-ckin’ east bay gangsta
[bridge]
gi-gi-da, gi-gi-da gangsta
gi-gi-da, gi-gi-da gangsta
kickin’ the funky gi-gi-da, gi-gi-da, gi-gi-da, gi-gi-da gangsta
they gots g-nut because he’s down with the fac
lynch motherf-ckers when me coolin’ the block
the x the l the a the r-g-e, the murder fac 187 posse
the e-a-ski is with 187, the cmt is with 187

[verse 3]
now as i’m maxin’ in this motherf-ckin’ jail cell
with nothin’ but dried up funk to smell
i’m thinkin’ about the times that i ganked fools
and why i’m coolin’ in these f-cked up county blues
i’ve murdered motherf-ckers singular and in a pair
and in the morning, i’ll be getting the electric chair
but do i care? yo, i can give a f-ck less
the cia, fbi got it in the chest
tappin’ my phone calls, wires hidden in my walls
i had the money flowin’ smooth like niagara falls
look where it got me, i’m considered a murderous criminal
because my bullet ate his ass like a cannibal
before i chopped him with ak, i made him say his grace
and then i emptied the clip off up in his f-ckin’ face
his partner callin’ for backup as i was breakin’ out
“n-gga, freeze or die,” that’s what i heard him shout
i hit the corner with quickness because i ain’t the one
to feel the f-ckin’ blast of a shotgun
and when they fry my ass, i’m goin’ straight to h-ll
that’s why i’m kickin’ you tales of a jail cell
and if you ever disrespect me, i’ma bank ya
so say “what up” to the motherf-ckin’ east bay gangsta
[outro]
dja mon, me gonna kick the funky gangsta sh-t, mon
me kickin’ the funky gangsta
the gi-gi-da, gi-gi-da gangsta
gi-gi-da, gi-gi-da, gi-gi-da, gi-gi-da, gi-gi-da, gi-gi-da gangsta
dja mon, mida me got e-a-ski in the house, mon
me got me dj xtra large, mon
we got cmt in the motherf-ckin’ house, mon
dja mon, we got my n-gga slip in the motherf-ckin’ house, mon
servin’ some of the g
check it out
man, me pullin’ out me gat, mon, to sell ’em to ghetto jah
me kickin’ the funky reggae, kickin’ the funky rasta
many people that i be meeting be calling me k!lla gangsta
me shoot up your b-tch and then kick back and smoke ’em by in the car
me f-ckin’ with dank, me f-ckin’ with dank, it’s s-p-i-c-e 1
me buckin’ ’em down, me buckin’ ’em down, me shootin’ up lead in his lung-uh
me kickin’ the funky gangsta sh-t to get the b-tch sprung-uh
the 187, the faculty, b-tch, so f-ck this last song-uh

- spice 1

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