West Coasting

[Intro]
Yeah you know what it is
It's your boy Big Jas
Once again homie with another motherfucking heater
Thats right
Its that g shit baby take a look into my mothafucken life homie
Shiii-..

[Verse 1]
I spit real scripts like a priest on Sunday
Cedar block homie and my turfs a one way
And one day, im gonna hit that run way
And on twenty eights plus I got that gunplay
That SK for a hater runnin up
Pop the fucken trunk and I spray em just like a skunk
Shattered dreams when im punchin ya spleen
Street marine on the scene assassin em clean
Fresh fit jas with a fresh fade
New shoes chipped tooth from the hard yay
The all nighter homie pass the lighter
All sick just call me Micheal Myers
Or Jack Nicholson
Cus you know I get the gat and pack it in my Pendleton
Sore losers so I play to win
Hate defeat no retreat ese blast on in

[Hook]
Westcoastin kush smokin
Pockets swollen gangsters rollin
I’ll put the hurtin on em and get to squirting on em
Its so real in the field when we plottin on em

Westcoastin kush smokin
Pockets swollen gangsters rollin
Bitches on it homies on it
L-A C-A Dog gone it

[Verse 2]
And all you hoes know im stickin to the G code
I stay started like 2pac when the heat blows
I stay focused like Kobe from the free throw
And if she wanna play games you let the slut go
Dont get it twisted bitches we with the business
Candy paint drippin off lows bumpin the realness
I'm talking real shit make you wanna kill shit
Gettin dome'd up with a blunt its called the shiznit
So smooth but yet im so grimey
Im so hood but yet im so shiney
Thats why they lovin it
Thats why shes rubbin dick
Because youll catch me in the zone with a broken brick
You know whats up mister Jas Coleone
I throw it up to the Los its my home
So get it good get it right
Pack it up in a fucken pipe
Take a hit hold it in break em off on sight

[Hook]
Westcoastin kush smokin
Pockets swollen gangsters rollin
I’ll put the hurtin on em and get to squirting on em
Its so real in the field when we plottin on em

Westcoastin kush smokin
Pockets swollen gangsters rollin
Bitches on it homies on it
L-A C-A Dog gone it

[Verse 3]
From the city of fiends and dope smokers
Bonefide criminal minds and deep throwners
Dimes lay on there back I grip shoulders
Comin through time after time so move over
I use soda homie to cook quotas
Break back to basics baby to bake bolders
My steez colder Jasper that east soldier
All in my zone and trust me that heats on ya
Still ride for my team
So, so fresh and im crispy and clean
Two Glock seventeens certified G
With the blood of a king never sleep on a dream
Cuz these L-A streets they be dangerous
They runnin up who could I trust ready to be down to bust
Bust up in a gift from god to spit this shit so tight
How could I stop gang bangin when it feels so right

[Hook]