| Look, I’m from Westside California, they run up on ya | 
| Ask you where you from and check yo' tats under yo' clothin' | 
| Hustla, go hard make sure my knot swollen | 
| Fuck it, say the wrong hood, bullets explodin' | 
| I trust few people these days 'cause that’s golden | 
| I seen niggas get killed for who they roll with | 
| And chose to keep inside they circle | 
| Satan sittin' on your sofa | 
| Same nigga that shot you was the one you used to smoke with | 
| Cold shit, my whole clique notorious | 
| You’ve heard of us, six Os is murderers | 
| You still servin' clucks, jealous nigga, you broke as fuck | 
| Yo bitch on my nuts, spillin' Patrón out my cup | 
| She can’t get enough, buffer me down as I puff on the finest kush | 
| They say I be doin' too much, I just do my stuff | 
| Yeah, I just do my stuff | 
| Hussle, Hussle | 
| Blue Laces, shell cases, we catch bodies, we don’t leave no traces | 
| Big faces, suitcases, if you ain’t know, hoe, we gettin' paid, bitch | 
| Blue Laces, shell cases, we catch bodies, we don’t leave no traces | 
| Big faces, suitcases, if you ain’t know, hoe, we gettin' paid, bitch | 
| I got Slauson on my back, Ed Hardy on my hip | 
| Weight of the world on my shoulders, gold rollie on my wrist | 
| Neighborhood chucks, blue checkerboard tint | 
| Dickies saggin' off my ass, walk with a hoodsta limp | 
| Two bricks on my white tee, same color cocaine | 
| I ain’t talkin' dope, I mean the price of my gold chain | 
| All money in, no money out, that was my slogan | 
| What I mean by that is stack it up and don’t spend no change | 
| I started small time, dope game, cocaine | 
| Seven grams was thirty rocks, that was my program | 
| The block propane, young nigga, no change | 
| Shoot-out with no aim, so they know yo name | 
| 'Cause where yo mama paid rent, that was yo gang | 
| So when yo homeboy bled, that was yo pain | 
| And if y’all both catch a case, you don’t say no names | 
| That’s just the code of the color of my shoe strings | 
| Blue Laces, shell cases, we catch bodies, we don’t leave no traces | 
| Big faces, suitcases, if you ain’t know, hoe, we gettin' paid, bitch | 
| Blue Laces, shell cases, we catch bodies, we don’t leave no traces | 
| Big faces, suitcases, if you ain’t know, hoe, we gettin' paid, bitch | 
| Been so many places, seen so many things | 
| Niggas stood against tryna chase that cream | 
| This ain’t livin' | 
| This ain’t livin, no | 
| You thinkin' you gettin' paid, hustlin' everyday | 
| My homies passin' away, no | 
| This ain’t livin' (Hustle, nigga) | 
| This ain’t livin, no | 
| Look | 
| What happened to the code? | 
| Streets all in shambles | 
| Niggas powderin' they nose, put the shame to what we stand for | 
| They think we on some kill another nigga shit | 
| We really on some stay down and diligent | 
| The streets is cold, turn innocence to militants | 
| Young niggas gangbangin' for the thrill of it | 
| Pops was gone, moms was never home | 
| But the streets was right there so they took you as they own | 
| Blue Laces, shell cases, we catch bodies, we don’t leave no traces | 
| Big faces, suitcases, if you ain’t know, hoe, we gettin' paid, bitch | 
| Blue Laces, shell cases, we catch bodies, we don’t leave no traces | 
| Big faces, suitcases, if you ain’t know, hoe, we gettin' paid, bitch |