Issue No 110 West Coast Love Lyrics
West Coast Love by Issue No. 110
I'm here to regulate, like I was a milli', yo
Young guns son the rap game, silly soul
Roll up the Philly slow, snatch the nine milli'
And hit the Wild West, shooting up like Billie
This ain't a kids' game, but it's like jump rope
Up in the ear like I'm blowing on weed smoke
Hand over the mouth
And poke 'em in the side with the gat
I'm from Compton, nigga, so let's rock
I'm like the man on the side, setting up the scheme
But I ain't in to your money, I'll be into your dreams
Back up in the ride, thirteens on the four
Keep the gat on the floor just in case I gotta show
Couple a niggas frown, I laugh my ass off
Tight-ass jeans, niggas, you so soft
You get tossed right out your shoes
Compton's back here, we give 'em the bad news
You know they can't hang with them lyrical slugs
When Marco Polo got the beat on subs
Original gang bang niggas from the hub
MC Eiht and King Tee showing West Coast love
It's no disguise, with the blue bandanna
Thug that spit it in the neighborhood grammar
Music to drive by, locus, no digging
The West on your coattails, you stay hidden
Unforgiving, Eiht got the murder rap
Tales in the Hood and rats, a few killed cats
I won't trade it for the fame and fortune
Compton keep it hot, block always scorching
Hood niggas on the porch still like everyday thing
Tre on Ds believe in Deuce Wayne
This is a game, no doubt, see the tag
Couple niggas crossed-out, so no need to brag
Shit, you fucking with the best
Eiht high, thin nigga, I am the West
So niggas. give it a rest
We take it back to the hood, we're ready to protest
You know they can't hang with them lyrical slugs
When Marco Polo got the beat on subs
Original gang bang niggas from the hub
MC Eiht and King Tee showing West Coast love
All bullshit aside, there ain't no competition
You fucking with that Hub City, East Coast edition
And Marc, you had it cooking when we stepped in the kitchen
That King Tee seasoning, spice up the vision
You see it when your eyeballs glisten
The mission, keep 'em on the dance floor fizzing
Make these little niggas stop wishing
On the fall of an OG and hopes of division
The West arise like a crimson
Tide from the ocean, all in slow motion
Fuck the criticism and them half-assed notions
I pledge with the L, true liquids of motion
And that's all a nigga saying
Fuck what the radio playing, that's gay and
I run through that new West thing and start banging, man
King Tee tripping, well let's go dipping, man
You know they can't hang with them lyrical slugs
When Marco Polo got the beat on subs
Original gang bang niggas from the hub
MC Eiht and King Tee showing West Coast love
Young guns son the rap game, silly soul
Roll up the Philly slow, snatch the nine milli'
And hit the Wild West, shooting up like Billie
This ain't a kids' game, but it's like jump rope
Up in the ear like I'm blowing on weed smoke
Hand over the mouth
And poke 'em in the side with the gat
I'm from Compton, nigga, so let's rock
I'm like the man on the side, setting up the scheme
But I ain't in to your money, I'll be into your dreams
Back up in the ride, thirteens on the four
Keep the gat on the floor just in case I gotta show
Couple a niggas frown, I laugh my ass off
Tight-ass jeans, niggas, you so soft
You get tossed right out your shoes
Compton's back here, we give 'em the bad news
You know they can't hang with them lyrical slugs
When Marco Polo got the beat on subs
Original gang bang niggas from the hub
MC Eiht and King Tee showing West Coast love
It's no disguise, with the blue bandanna
Thug that spit it in the neighborhood grammar
Music to drive by, locus, no digging
The West on your coattails, you stay hidden
Unforgiving, Eiht got the murder rap
Tales in the Hood and rats, a few killed cats
I won't trade it for the fame and fortune
Compton keep it hot, block always scorching
Hood niggas on the porch still like everyday thing
Tre on Ds believe in Deuce Wayne
This is a game, no doubt, see the tag
Couple niggas crossed-out, so no need to brag
Shit, you fucking with the best
Eiht high, thin nigga, I am the West
So niggas. give it a rest
We take it back to the hood, we're ready to protest
You know they can't hang with them lyrical slugs
When Marco Polo got the beat on subs
Original gang bang niggas from the hub
MC Eiht and King Tee showing West Coast love
All bullshit aside, there ain't no competition
You fucking with that Hub City, East Coast edition
And Marc, you had it cooking when we stepped in the kitchen
That King Tee seasoning, spice up the vision
You see it when your eyeballs glisten
The mission, keep 'em on the dance floor fizzing
Make these little niggas stop wishing
On the fall of an OG and hopes of division
The West arise like a crimson
Tide from the ocean, all in slow motion
Fuck the criticism and them half-assed notions
I pledge with the L, true liquids of motion
And that's all a nigga saying
Fuck what the radio playing, that's gay and
I run through that new West thing and start banging, man
King Tee tripping, well let's go dipping, man
You know they can't hang with them lyrical slugs
When Marco Polo got the beat on subs
Original gang bang niggas from the hub
MC Eiht and King Tee showing West Coast love