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spice 1 - east bay gangster lyrics

verse 1:

welcome to the ghetto, and this is the place, young n-gg-s be throwin
they rocks up in my face
my homey g be yellin yo this like a holdup, i’m pullin my gat to make
a m-th- f–ka 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 -ss down
i know it’s scandalous but a simple f–kin dirty fact, i’d rather hear
my uzi rat-a-ta-ta-tat-tat
it’s for protection not to kill or break a n-gg-‘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 homey
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 m-th- f–kin dope fiend
he seen me shoot him so i shot him blew his -ss 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 m-th- f–ka so don’t play yourself, i flip you over fry
your -ss like a patty melt
and if you ever disrespect me i’ma bank ya, so say what up to the
m-th- f–kin east bay gangsta

meneme forgot to use my nine ’cause 5-0 bombed the ak, the 187 posse
robbed the bank in a way. legal or illegal it’s the way of the bay. the
government keep the profit of cocaine in a way. me shootin up me
shootin up if he don’t give me my pay the n-gg-s up on the block send
for me every day. a thousand everyday will keep the 5-0 away. just
call me east bay g-a-n-g-s-t-a

verse 2:

looked in my mirror cose range right behind me, tinted windows up in
the benz 190
i ain’t no dummy knew right off he’s tryin to kill me, if i don’t smash
full of buckshot 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
187 did i do it with an ak, another day a n-gg- 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 -ss up in a straightjacket
so all you suckas listen close to this warnin, while i get into your
-ss like charmin
funky sh-t that so dope so open your mouth up, you ever shuck me i’ma
blow your f–kin house up
and if youever disrespect me i’ma bank ya, so say what up to the m-th-
f–kin eastbay gangsta

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-gi-da gi-gi-da gangsta(? ) g-nut
because he’s down with the fac, lynch m-th- f–kas when we’re 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 m-th- f–kin jail cell, with nuthin but dried
up funk to smell
i thinkin about the times that i ganked fools and why i’m coolin in
these f–ked up county blues
i ‘ve murder m-th- f–kas singular and in a pair, and in the morning
i’ll be getting the electric chair
but do i care, yo i could give a f–k 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
the glory got so i’m considered a murderous criminal, because my bullet
ate his -ss 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–kin face
his partner callin for backup as i was breakin out, n-gg- refused to
die, that’s what i heard him shout
i hit the corner with quickness because i ain’t the one, to feel the
f–kin blast of a shotgun
and when they fry my -ss, i’m goin straight 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 m-th-
f–kin eastbay gangsta

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 m-th- f–kin house, dja mon we got (? ) check
it out!

verse 4:

me pullin out me glock mon to settle the ghetto job me kickin the funky
reggae kickin the funky rasta
many people that i be meeting be calling me killa gangsta then shoot up
your b-tch and kick back and smoke a blunt in the car
me f–kin with dank me f–kin with dank it’s s-p-i-c-e 1 me buckin em
down me buckin em down shootin lead in his lung
me kickin the funky gangsta sh-t to get the b-tch sprung, the 187
faculty b-tch so f–k the
(? )

- spice 1 lyrics

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