West Coast Love - Marco Polo, Dj Revolution, King Tee

I’m here to regulate, like I was a million

Young guns son the rap game, silly soul

Roll up the Philly slow, snatch the nine millie

And hit the Wild West, shootin' up like Billie

This ain’t a kids' game, but it’s like jump rope

Up in the ear like I’m blowing on weed smoke

Hand over the mouth

And poke ‘em in the side with the gat

I’m from Compton, nigga, so let’s rock

I’m like the man, setting up the scheme

But I ain’t in to your money, I’ll be into your dreams

Back up in the ride, thirteens on the four

Keep the gat on the floor just in case I gotta show

Couple a niggas frown, I laugh my ass off

Tight-ass jeans, niggas you so soft

You get tossed right out your shoes

Compton’s back here, we give ‘em the bad news

You know they can’t hang with them lyrical slugs

When Marco Polo got the beat on subs

Original gang bang niggas from the hub

MC Eiht and King Tee showing West Coast love

It’s no disguise, with the blue bandanna

Thug that spit it in the neighborhood grammar

Music to drive by, locus, no digging

The West on your coattails, you stay hidden

Unforgiven, Eiht got the murder rap

Tales in the Hood and rats, a few cats

I won’t trade it for the fame and fortune

Compton keep it hot, block always scorchin'

Hood niggas on the porch still like everyday thang

Tre on Ds believe in Deuce Wayne

This is a game, no doubt, see the tag

Couple niggas crossed-out, so no need to brag

Shit you fucking with the best

Eiht high, thin nigga, I am the West

So niggas give it a rest

We take it back to the hood, we’re ready to protest

All bullshit aside, there ain’t no competition

You fucking with that Hub City, East Coast edition

And Marc you had it cooking when we stepped in the kitchen

That King Tee seasoning, spice up the vision

You see it when your eyeballs glisten

The mission, keep ‘em on the dance floor fizzin' (get up)

Make these little niggas stop wishing

On the fall of an O.G.

and hopes of division

The West arise like a crimson

Tide from the ocean all in slow motion

Fuck the criticism and them half-assed notions

I pledge with the L, true liquids of motion

And that’s all a nigga saying

Fuck what the radio playing, that’s gay and

I run through that new West thing and start banging man

King Tee tripping, well let’s go dipping man