Ronald Reagan Era

We’re far from good Not good from far 90 miles per hour down Compton Boulevard With the top down, screaming we don’t give a f-ck Drink my 40 ounce of freedom while I roll my blunt Cause the kids just aint alright Oh shit niggas Somethin’ bout to happen Nigga this shit, nigga this sound like 30 keys under the compton court building Hope the dogs don’t smell it Welcome to vigilante 80′s so don’t you ask me I’m hungry my body’s antsy I’ll rip through your f-cking pantry Peeling off like a  examine my orchestra Granny said when I’m old enough I’ll be sure to be all I can be You niggas Marcus Camby, washed up Pussy fix ya panties I’m Mr. Marcus, you gettin’ f-cked, ugh You aint heard nothing harder since Daddy Kane Take it vain, vicodins couldn’t ease the pain Lightening bolts hit ya body, you thought it rained Not a cloud in sight, just the shit that I write strong enough To stand in front of a travelling freight train Are you trained, to go against Dracula Dragging the record industry by my fangs AK clips, money clips and gold chains You walk around with a P90 like it’s the 90′s Bullet to your temple your homocide’ll remind me Them Compton crip niggas aint nothing to f-ck with Bompton Piru’s aint nothing to f-ck with Compton ese’s aint nothin’ to f-ck with But they f-ck with me and bitch I love it Whoopty whoop, woopty woop woop Whoopty whoop, woopty woop woopty woop woop California dungeons Whoopty whoop, woopty woop woop Whoopty whoop, woopty woop woopty woop woop California dungeons Lets hit the county building gotta catch my check Spend it all to a 40 ounce to the neck And in retrospect I remember December being the hottest Squad cars, neighbourhood wars and stolen monsters I tell you mothaf-ckers that life is full of hydraulics Up and down, get 64 better know how to drive it I’m driving on E with no license or registration Heart racin’ racing past johnny because he’s racist 1987, the children of Ronald Reagan raped the leaves off your front porch With a machine blow torch He blowing on stress, hoping to ease the stress He copping some blow hoping that it can stretch New born massacre, hoppin’ out the passenger With calendars cause your date coming Run ‘em down them he gun em down I’m hoping that you fast enough Even the legs of Michael Johnson don’t mean nothin’ because Them Compton crip niggas aint nothing to f-ck with Bompton Piru’s aint nothing to f-ck with Compton ese’s aint nothin’ to f-ck with But they f-ck with me and bitch I love it Whoopty whoop, woopty woop woop Whoopty whoop, woopty woop woopty woop woop California dungeons Whoopty whoop, woopty woop woop Whoopty whoop, woopty woop woopty woop woop California dungeons Can’t detour when you at war with your city Why run for Just ride with me, just die with me That gun store, right there When you fight, don’t fight fair Cause you’ll never win Can’t detour when you at war with your city Why run for Just ride with me, just die with me That gun store, right there When you fight, don’t fight fair Cause you’ll never win Yeah yeah yeah Woah woah wo-wo-wo-woah Woah woah wo-wo-wo-woah