G’s & Loc’s (Clean Version)

Verse 1: Evil Bat (Batman):

I wake up in the morning poppin' clip after clip
I'm puttin' in work smokin' a Crab like a bigarette
One more Crab had to die Rickets wonder why
I sit back relax, in the cut as his momma cry
His homies want some get back, but they can get a toe tag
And that's what you get, for takin' out your nasty flue rag
The (inaudible) bust with the click, and they call you true flue
I smoke their whole Crab crew, your baby's mommas too, and you
My name is Evil Bat and I'm a rebel and a soldier
I'm sparkin' like some folders, E-Rickets like I told ya
I got you Crab Rickets on yo' tip of your toes
And you be all on my jock, 'cause you be diggin' my flows
And DJ Quik I took your beat and now I'm lookin' for you
Wassup? To the Bloods and the Pirus
You Crabs just be talkin' I be spittin' that heat
Give it up for the Swans Eastside M.S.B., G

Verse 2: Troll Loc:

Slobs lie dead in the shelf full of .9 lead
17 shots to the face left a Snoop dead
'Cause I never slipped fully clipped for the drive-by
Lettin' off shots on the Crens watchin' Snoops die
For me killin' Slobs is how I leave scars, no holds barred
Known to be hard, pullin' cards, leavin' Snoops charred
Nots to be messed with, played with or stepped to
Or tricked by a girl 'cause I'm killin' Slob hoes too
So pull out your nuts Die-ru 'cause it's check time, keep your TEC-9
This .44 will make you Slobs respect mine
Hard to the dome gets me ready for some action
Plus I sip on some 'gnac, now I'm set to go blastin', packin'
An automatic MAC-10, with the Desert Eagle off safety, to make more Slobs hate me
Gravely, 'cause ain't no comin' fake, see
All conversation is ended, once my arm is extended
And hand clenched around the pistol
The point is made clear like crystal, kill a Slob and then get ghost
Troll Loc with the 'K in the C-P-T
Forget a B-Dog, you should have been a L-O-C

Verse 3: Lil' Hawk:

Now, here I come again with that gangsta flow, as I break these Crabs off 'cause they really don't know
That when they diss the B, they got some comin', I'm dumpin'
And while I'm gunnin', all the Crabs be runnin'
But ain't no gettin' away, from the 47-K
When I spray this part 2 of that have a bloody day
I'm steady breakin' 'em off, somethin' proper
And never ever to think that you can get, with the Hawksta
The Mafias is di-zzie, so pi-zzi, the ri-zzle
C.M.G.D.L.B. Crabs gettin' kizz-led
Smoke 187, fool I'm no joke
So don't even trip or you end up dead ghost
Who is it, who is it, killin' 'em off
And Blood is that crazy fool and you know it's Lil' Hawk and when I roll
I'm guaranteed to drop, hittin' that ass up with that O.G. Crenshaw Mafia, woo-woo, fool

Verse 4: AWOL:

I made a mistake thought I was down with the Peach Street
Over in Elm Street representin' the K.P
I can drink the Thunderbird until I get sick
But it don't get me high enough so I smoke a sherm sticc, trip
A chick in red make a B.G. itch
I disagree with the homies 'cause I ain't mackin' to no Slob trick
The wrong Kelly to chuck on with, to press your luck with
A Kelly you don't wanna get stuck with
Is like a Nightmare on Elm Street, when I creep
And lay them Slobs down for the K.P
Blue coat, blue beanie and blue chucks
The 47 got that Slob-ass fool stuck
A flea dog can't get with me
K's up, AWOL is a L-O double C