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[Chorus:] Now these West Coast players and we love to ball... And these Gulf Coast Hustlers love to do it all... And them East Coast killas ought to represent And when we ride together we're gonna kill some shit... [Verse 1] I got my mind made up, I'm strapped and I'm riddin high West Side till I die, money multiplied Down and dirty hooked up with my phones Gulf Coast in a hurry cadillacs and gold jewlery And we blow big candy cane Playa hattin dirty Mex don't understand tha game Baby beach, baby beth, latino's if ever do you gang bang I can't do it cause I'm all about my money man Hoggin and doggin cheddar cheese full of scratch And got them super fly fish tags full of tash That's how we do it, hustle fluit runnin through my veins I got soldiers that'll dump for a little change... [Carlos Coy] Ring around the police, pockets full of hoezies It's the wizard tha 36 ozies Swingin n swervin jealous man's burden Hoe's see my ride and wanna say they a virgin 20 inch turnin keep they heart hurtin Letras de cancionesH-town city slicker, buy my German Sippin' on bourban, back woods a burnin' Back in the days I couldn't get one wordin Now I park valet wit boys outta Cali Playas on pro's like the mother fuckin valley If you were me, u'd be surrounded by security Dope House, known for our purity [Chorus] [Verse 2] Yeah, these west coast riders with the down south G's 17 shots pulled back an squeeze Take Keys break 'em down the o's and p's And I'll ball like a mother fuckin' C-fee toe I'm laced in this bitch like PCP, with SPM, and LOW-G Down with the click, I'm Baby Beesh and I'm a Hillwood Hustla 'til I die motherfucker I'ma grind in L.A. 'til my very last day It's a struggle but I gotta bubble baby, please believe it I guess that's the reason I roll with my rival And like I said big frost is a hard act to follow... [3rd verse - Rasheed] It's the - Philly Alumni on the drum I, come I wit the type of funk that make a sucka cry but he need no paper to fly I ain't gon' lie, my organization down wit World Wide Hustlaz gettin' sick, wit Salty Waters' Lifestyl livin' life-a the homie force that's gon' hop up on the plane seize, that Baby Beesh without the west coast mary jane on the east coast, they're going whacko for that stack of paper on the South Side, they run wit slangaz and they stack that paper we screamin' YAAY YAAY wit the baskets full of blaze South Park Mexican and Rasheed makin' power moves ev-ery day cashin' in the money, like Universal comin' wit Def Jam and do a hater we gon' have to... [Chorus x2] [Low G] It's yo boy Low G from the center of the planet I feel it get crunk and take control like Janet When you hear the hit, what show you gonna jam in Can't hang with the bandit, haters can't stand it Recommended a mendez, ta win dis The Menace most worse that Dennis Mmmmm, Me entiendes? Raches apendes Remember me Low-G from the block of rock Second war with the nine millemeter glock Keep it endless, stayin friendless Cali flex the next Kid Frost, Baby Beesh, Rasheed and the South Park Mex... [Chorus x2] From Letras Mania