Verse 1
B
Am
Go ride, ride,
B
Am
B
Am
lick the slot
B
Am
Cm
B
What you thought it was, buzz lit,
too much to handle
Em
F
Pentagon riders, vicious animals,
B
what the fuck's wrong with her
Em
All she wanna do is eat a dick, that's cool
Am
B
Coca -Cola, it's all cool,
Em
she wanna eat balls and drool
Am
F
Am
B
Dip through, bitch, it's cool,
fuck with me, bitch, it's cool
I bomb on a nigga in a flash,
snatch his pockets off,
see his homies in blast
Em
F#
B
Corrupt, young Gotti, 2Ks and rifles,
with an entourage of YA disciples
Em
B
Psycho, vicious than a motherfucker,
dippin' in this motherfucker
in her doodle brown cutlass
Em
Let me give you game,
B
let me throw you a pass,
so when you hit the hood,
C
the homies gon' beat your ass all hood
Am
B
Nigga ain't no good on the block
Swine in the air
Am
B
Gangsters everywhere
The streets were always
Em
Am
B
calling you
Projects
Broken down homes
Em
F
B
To the coast and left
Banged up
F
Cm
B
All red and blue
G
B
Em
Fuck ballin' We U -Haulin'
Am
F
I bang on these niggas like Darryl Dawkins
B
I'm the rabbit that got the gun,
feel the end of my thigh
C
Fools is getting domed like
G
the Roman Empire
B
Em
Par -kay, nah nigga over here we butter
Am
Never sling them chest busters
B
You niggas wear khakis, we panties,
so which is G -string on?
Am
B
Like dung -da -dung -dung -dung
Aw, I fucks with that white
nigga named Fingers
Em
Am
We bring the funk like I'm a Narynga
B
First nigga smashin' in the poncho
Em
Hittin' switches in the fold
B
like Kremstown
Am
B
Oh, ooh -ah, ooh -ah, ee -ee -ee
Em
B
Yellin' out to these niggas like,
Free Trade D!
The West Coast without me
Am
It's like hot sauce without
B
the pig feet
Em
Am
B
Swingin' gangsters everywhere
The streets were always
Em
Am
B
callin' you
Projects, broken down homes
Em
Am
to the coast to the left
B
To the coast to the left
Am
Banged up, all red and blue
B
So all my homeboys in your ranges
Em
All ages, makin' front pages
Am
B
Let me see y 'all, hit a switch,
throw it up
Gettin' rich, blowin' up,
Em
B
puffin' out of Vegas
Y8 till we die, mashin'
Em
Listen to the thoughts of a young assassin
Am
Cm
I'll throw your hands to the sky
B
And grab a female, pull her close to you
Cm
C
And get your grind on, fool,
B
like you're supposed to do
And if it wasn't for these Westside hits
Em
Radio would be a 'ight,
B
but it wouldn't be the shit
I got a East Coast flow
But with a West Coast twist
And it's bangin', you know it is
Don't even twitch when you
see me rollin' up
Slowin' up for the valet
Em
B
Am
Don't need to worry about no fireplace
B
I'm livin' proof that G
-Rap didn't fall off
Raise the roof until the detachment fall off
We gon' ride in the air
Am
B
Gangsters everywhere
Em
Am
The streets were always calling you
B
Projects
Broken down homes to the
Em
Am
coast to the left
B
To the coast to the left
Banged up
Am
F
C
B
All red and blue
Em
Gon' ride
Am
Go this slot
B
Yeah!
Am
B
Go ride this slot
Em
Am
B
Go ride this slot
Am
Adim
Go ride this slot
The Streets R Callin
Kokane, Kurupt, Roscoe
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