Check it out
All don't G like we G
Evil side on the cut thang S.C.C.
Y'all don't G...
4 deep on the creep, I gots the heat on -
We swervin' whip to set trip, regulate your block
Turn the 6-4's to low-low's, bangin' for the West Coast
What's next? Breakin fools necks like bad checks
Outrageous with 12 gauges, L.A. Times front pages
Leavin' mingled bodies hangin' on stages
Collapse fools with raps, peeelin' caps with straps
Twistin' off the bomb, my eyes are tighter than Japs
Rollin' evil with the evil side schemin', Young Prod
Clipp's the house, oh my God, a homicide!
Is about to be committed, admit it, we run thangs
Full Clipp from S.C., ready to ride and hoo-bang
Competin', strangle the evil with low blows
Low low's stay juiced on thick with hell of heat exposed
The S.C. script have a design to serve anydody
Yeah, West Coast is more feared than John Gotti
So what you gon' do when you see
Them West Coast G's mobbin' 4 and 5 deep
And flossin' whips
Shake it, shake it babe, West Coast Gangstas 5 deep
And that's killa...
G manouvres, increasin' my retaliation
Real killers provoked could equal to your devastation
My motivation is lyrication, this philosophation
Acquired by the gangsta's inspiration
Ready to loc, I'm smokin' tracks like it's (blunted)
I'm frontin' 'bout .44 mags and G rags
My khakis, t-shirt and Chucks stun ya
I zap you like a genie
You try to escape like Whodini
You plastic
I'm boombastic like that mutha... Shaggy
The Cartel keeps the groove nasty
You tried to fade, but got eleminated, tried the differential
But couldn't fade the gangstas gettin' mental
Credential, compound exploding through hoods and towns
Breakin' it down, the G's is makin' the world go round
It's Mr. Prod comin' cutthroat, live like a wire
The West Coast G's is on fire
Freestylin' to a instrumental, in a rental
Q-fo'-fever, evil side finna leave ya
Whole hood leakin, blood seekin' for the weekend
Headhuntin like a dome-servin' freak and
Mental scheme we G's this, we locs like that
We grab Macs and reacts to open marks' backs
Welcome to the dome of terror, the era of the Evil Side
Lay fools out in rhymes like drive-by's
Come, come, test this, let's just
See yo' face taste? then just this
No mistakin, not fakin in the field, we're money-makin'
We grab the g's, get the ki's and we shake it
It ain't too easy to find me
Young Prod run games like Jumanji
My 9 blow minds everytime I dump
Takin' bastards' chests out and lump
Evil Side, serve a whole click from the back to the front
Don't front, so where ya at?
In the back of the homie's 'Lac
Cockin' a strap, finna take the funny style off the mat
I got your back - back at ya, gangsta
Pull the triggers, slugs to bastards' mugs
Forever Evil Side, straight bangers