Just get on down
Just get on down
Just get on down
Just get on down
Just get on down
Just get on down
Just get on down
Just get on down

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Shit, Got a nigga gone off a fifth of Van Gogh and apple juice
Throw up a deuce, keep my hat banged to the left and ain't scared to act a fool
So what you gon' do, you betta not speak unless spoken to 'cause I bust that shit'it
Dump that Philly, out that back door of the 'Lac wit a yak, gettin' drunk off in it
Through the Chi like North, North, South, South
Niggas talk shit put that work in they mouth
In the East, East, West, West, niggas bust back put a slug in ya chest
'Cause I'm hood, hood, gutter, gutter
Shawty got juice like a muh'fucka
Hood of the hustlas and bloodsuckas
Back in the bricks with that wood

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Stepped in the spot, buyin' yak wit my balla camp
All them bitches holla'n 'bout is (Where them fuckin dollas at)
Yeah, I got them hoes, I got them O's, I got elbows for the low
And yeah, I got white fo's, I got black fo's, I got crack weed on the floor
So get on your grind, get off them lines, get on mine let ya mind take course
See I dip and I ride, switchin the tires, whippin' the Five 85 Chevy Sport
See if you got 16's, I will make that pliz'ay
And I'm dressed like a dope boy, throwin' up them triz'eys

East side, whole Masterfield rainbow
Flat soles, kinda roll where them thangs blow
Good wood, not wastin' that payroll
Five hoes, trap boys got breakfast
My size got air nigga rep that
We ride, rock sells, you can bet that
Car is a Cutlass, pistol is a must bitch
Let a nigga know that his head I will bust quick
Some slum niggas know what I'm talkin' 'bout
Lil Rob fillin' hoes in the parkin' lot
Gimme head while I'm bustin' that two track
It was 12, hit the fence, never looked back
Big thug, hit clubs in the big boy
Dollar Boy, let 'em know how to rip folk
If a bitch broke, gotta let her slide, though
2-0 represent East side ho

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Yeah, I'm up in the club, 4 whippin' up, stowin' up pitchfork (What, what)
Tupac, I'm a rider, hoppin' out, Gangsta Crip Disciples (Yeah!)
While the side of the club is dressed in Blood colors, waitin' on a sign to (Yeah!)
Pull out the gats and attack on them boys that thought that the drama couldn't happen
They blastin' and screamin', we ain't friends, ain't no need to pretend
(Shawty!) Revenge on my mind for my homey that got killed last weekend
His brains was left leakin' while his body got cold
Now it's y'all life that y'all owe
Time to even the score, case closed

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Copyright: Ultra Tunes
Writer(s): ARBIE WILSON, BOBBY SANDIMANIE, GUY RASHAWNNA, TAHEED EPPS, TORREY D COOK