The Game - Stat | Текст песни

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• The Game
• Stat

California ain't a state it's a army!

[Verse 1]
One motherfuckin nigga in the projects killin
The same motherfucker that would burn down the villains
Where the niggas blunt full of that
You know, who gone take you back to Compton In that 6 4 two door
Sub woofers in the trunk kickin that lethal injection
A hood nigga lost with no direction
so he bought a black smith & weston
strapped on his vest and that's his protection
At the intersection waitin on the robber
cuz in the city of Angels it's all about survival,
motherfuck the 5-0, They wanna see you DOA, welcome to L.A.
Where the ghetto birds flyin over my auntie's and my cuzin's house
tell me what they buzzin bout
the little homie got smoked on the corner
And now his momma cryin, dead in califronia

[Chorus]
Motherf**kers ain't gone learn,
Till the chronic blunt don't burn
And you can't see nuthin but the ghetto bird light shinin
through the f**kin palm trees,
California ain't a state it's a army
(2x)

[Verse 2]
Jumped in my impala took a trip to the swap meat,
The scoop bought EGO trippin and some white T's
Cus some niggas in my old hood don't like me
time to put the niggas on check, like my Nike's
shoulda heard my my nigga Mack 10 on the chirp
All I need is me and my bitch,
If you scared go to church,
Cuz in Califorinia niggas crack heads for the turf
And life ain't nuthin but Teck-9's and dirt
Dippin through the the jungles, my escalade hit a dip
Here come the gorillas in the mist
and they dressed like Ice Cube was in 96
Stone cold jherri curl and not one drip
I sleep with the worms before I swim with the fish
And I ride with my niggas before I roll witta bitch
If it don't make dollars it don't make sense
And I almost got shot because I hit a fence

[Chorus]
Motherf**kers ain't gone learn,
Till the chronic blunt don't burn
And you can't see nuthin but the ghetto bird light shinin
through the f**kin palm trees,
California ain't a state it's a army
(2x)

[Verse 3]

Call the U.S. government and tell em it's a mutherf**kin code red,
Niggas tried to straight up jack me and now they both dead
third little nigga got away on his mo-ped
caught him 'round the corner put the beam on his forehead
Jumped in the impala then smashed through the light
without a one time in sight,
So I bust a right on Century headed to the L.A.X.
where there ain't nuthin but fly bitches and checks
In and out of lanes and I almost wrecked
Off Brand a nigga in the 600 throwin up his set
he must don't know I got the 40 on deck
and the teck tryin be Sh??? time to flex
it's the third this shit happened to me all day
guess it's time to add another dead body to the throw away
So I turned down my Spice 1 tape and hit the switch
emptied the whole clip in his f**kin face

[Chorus]
Motherf**kers ain't gone learn,
Till the chronic blunt don't burn
And you can't see nuthin but the ghetto bird light shinin
through the f**kin palm trees,
California ain't a state it's a army
(2x)

California ain't a state it's a army!

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