- Lyrics
- Album list
- Singer Intro
Crooked I( Dominick Wickliffe )
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U Shoulda Made A Phone Call
[Woman]
And I'm his bitch Bonnie
{*sample plays in background*}
'How much longer, must we share this masquerade?
You don't knowwww, it's just a silly little game we play, ohhh'
[Intro: Crooked I]
Yeah, it's summertime in Cali-FOR-nia, ha ha
I'm sendin a piece of Cali to all my real niggaz across the world
My D niggaz, NICKEL! Vish', Kino
Mike B, Hoover B
My niggaz in Jerz, Jumpoff, yeah
My niggaz in Brooklyn, Ortiz in the booth holla
It's a piece of Cali, summertime huh
[Crooked I]
Yo Eastside up, Westside up
Northside up, Southside up
Lokin lin I'm in a U.F.O. when I ride up
Low tires, chrome wires, big pipes fired up (yeah)
Im on the West Coast, home of the kush smoke
Walkin with a cold diddy-bop like my foot broke
Where the bitches got a bad mouth and good throat
We slang weed but we ball like we push coke
You upset seven days, you mad week/weak
I get more ass than the taxi - the back seat
I slap the ass of the bad freak
And make a plam reader read my future from the print
I left on her ass cheek
If it's sunset I got a dozen whips behind me
If it's beef I got a hunder Bloods And Crips behnd me
Soon as I'm miked up it's live coverage of the right subject
Me livin my life like FUCK YEAH!
[Chorus: K-Young]
When we rollin, always smokin
Fuck ya momma, fuck ya hoes and
You ain't get at me when I want
My niggaz tie up bandannas and sneak up on ya
Like ayy-ay-AY, do or die
This is a no-fly zone, call it a suicide
You shoulda made a phone call
You woulda been alright, alright
[Crooked I]
We used to ride Impalas, now we pushin in the Benz
with the Lorenzo kit, and the three-piece rims
My be in Roscoe's, might be at Eminem's
This Eastside L.B.C., my nigga
This Pigface Weapon Waist, let me set the record straight
Second-rate rappers, your neck and head fiina separate
Gettin neck and head, naked sexin on the second date
Eatin eggs and steak, while a fella hela celebrate (yeah!)
This is Gangland, shit is outstandin
My niggaz knock yo' ass OUT, without standin
From a wheelchair, uppercut you in the motherfuckin air
You a athiest, you never had a prayer
Slaughterhouse player, you already know though
A pig is our logo, but we ain't the po-po
C.O.B. is my religion, let the pope know
Cali is a no-fly zone, pick up the phone bro
[Chorus]
[Crooked I]
Why ya wanna gangsta hate on C, O, B?
Hat pulled lowm you know me
Like a 10-K brick of yay a nigga low-key
I be, in the back of the club, I'm in the V.I.P.
I'm mackin a slut, let me see some ID
Naw I don't do the Roman Polanski
One thing a bitch'll never see (what?) my house key
... Ay, ay - bitches call me DREAM
and say Dominick Rule Everything Around Me
I got love for my hipsters and emo's
This is G though, this is Deebo
This is street soul, fuck the RICO
Hot as gonorrhea urine in your pee-hole
From here to Indonesia
I rep the two fingers twisted between your pinkie and trigger squeezers
[Chorus]
[Outro: Sauce the Boss]
Yeah nigga, you know what it is
You heard it from the boss; mouth
Thios is C-motherfuckin-O-Bosses
And I;m Sauce the Boss, the primse minister of Watts nigga
And this is a no-fly zone, you get it?
Nogga this is a no-fly zone
{'A silly little game we play, ohhh'}
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