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I neva drink, brass monkey, all about my money Nickname Zy-3, that OG cush junkie Eyes bloodshot red, I'm highly medicated A nigga's still hurt cause my pops didn't make it Seven years old, but I was ? Raised white, disagree but you can go to hell Living independently never start to fail me Cops gave me a tip, now I'm chasing that money trail I gotta get it cause you know that clock is tickin' Make sure that my son got a pot to piss in Meet manglin', hustlin', fuckin' I do things my way, you can't tell me nothin' Straight off the motherfuckin' streets, a target Easy does it, yeah, you know we still stompin' Kills of the streets, well known as it seems Sum it up, you can call us street kings, nigga No threat no cuts on my essay Fuck and murder the Compton, west side L.A. West Coast just can't be touched Stand in the air if you don't give a fuck Hustlin', pimpin', swaggin', thuggin' One hit of this good shit gonna make you choke We run shit for Doc da Bloc West Coast niggas just can't be stopped Letras de cancionesWe dun get ol, darti bus man turp tiia Wi don hav a lung, brai matta it aligal Nepa won pan chea, tea fea Bot em pan di run e godo Di street kings dun come wit no pay Dem do wit man de mah shae Shaw dem maneske to det one fadeste Wo deste to man di pullin o life ago Sage, comin o long talk, possin o quotation Inna di man squa detena ma scuart some On my rit pin black on di reast eas e Se wa a dim pussy seme wo dem street kings No threat no cuts on my essay Fuck and murder the Compton, west side L.A. West Coast just can't be touched Stand in the air if you don't give a fuck Hustlin', pimpin', swaggin', thuggin' One hit of this good shit gonna make you choke We run shit for Doc da Bloc West Coast niggas just can't be stopped Thirteen years strong, now I'm on, so you gon' respect me I'm so sick that I got AIDS scared to catch me Cause I ain't nothin' less that good, bitch, I'm simply great It's the legendary Kokane, or MCO Extras, real loses, you don't move till I say so Gimme three months, I'mma have Obama on the payroll My ? from Mexico better give me them pessos My yungins with the field bullshit, callin' torpedoes When I hustle, break up the head and I spit blood All my money in the bank, watch how that shit stack up Crippin' be for pimpin', please willie nigga back up I'mma Street king, even neon thing, I'mma neat truck No threat no cuts on my essay Fuck and murder the Compton, west side L.A. West Coast just can't be touched Stand in the air if you don't give a fuck Hustlin', pimpin', swaggin', thuggin' One hit of this good shit gonna make you choke We run shit for Doc da Bloc West Coast niggas just can't be stopped From Letras Mania