[Intro]
(This is a DJ Skee exclusive)
Yeah, Neighborhood, tiny locs do the most
Nip' Hussle in this motherfucker
Slauson Boy, you n***as already know what it is
Huh? Hood shit
Give y'all a lil' throwback, like this
Look, look

[Verse]
With so much drama in the R.S.C
Most of these n***as in L.A. ain't got the heart to beef, so don't
Come around my around my way
Young n***as in the back shootin' dice or on the roof with 'K's
Now as I, step out my closet, put my keys in my car
Dippin' down the 'Shaw, made a left on Hyde Park
Seen some off-brand n***as lookin' shady
Threw my hood, they start laughin' tryna play me, pssh
6-0 degrees got me rollin' up my sleeves
Reachin' for my Ruger that's behind my AC, fa' sheez
I pull up on 'em slow, and hell nah, I ain't hesitate to squeeze
'Cause I'm a tiny loc line presser
You might mess up, make the wrong turn off Slauson and learn a life lesson
MACs with extended magazine and suppressors
Strapped 'cause the police ain't on the streets to protect us
Trapped in a sting, it's all a scheme to collect us
Lock us up in cages that they know ain't gon' correct us
Y'all done F'd up, you from the West, huh?
You got it on your mind, you should get it off you chest, cuh
Lotta speculation who gon' be the next up
Block money, tell these rappers get they checks up
Before you hit the West, charger sock kicks up
So when you get took for your change you could text us
Between Draws and the homie in the red Chucks
It's safe to say we got this whole shit sewed up
We got this whole shit sewed up
I'm just looking for some more kush to roll up
Always smoking that la-la-la
To keep my brain maintainin' through drama, I'm
Not the one, we jackin' for beats on back streets
With aluminum bats, toe tags, and PD
That's any jurisdiction, in or out the district
7-7 division of crime scene forensic
My .9 blur the vision of material witness
20/20 to blind, now she need prescriptions, look
Cut the lights out and twist up a sack
'Cause the feds tappin' my hood, you get all that?
From the birds to the squad to the cameras in the back
Of the routes by field where I handle the pack
See, a n***a like me just had to attack
In junior high, I ain't had no sack lunch, in fact
I used to flip a quarter, get like me for change
Now I flip quarter kilos of 'caine and cop again
(It's like—)