South Park Mexican – West Coast, Gulf Coast, East Coast lyrics

[Chorus]
[Frost] Ask these west coast players, and we love to ball

[Spm] And these gulf coast hustlers love to do it all

[Rasheed] And them east coast killers ought to represent
And when we ride together, we gon' kill some shit

[Verse 1]
[Baby Bash]
I got my mind made up
I'm strapped and I'm ridin' high
West side til I die, money multiply
Down and dirty
Hooked up with my folks
Gulf coast in a hurry, Cadillacs and gold jewelery
And we blow big candy cane
Playa-hatin' dirty Mex don't understand the game
Baby Beesh, Baby Bash, Latino Velvet, do you gang bang
I can't do it, cause I'm all about my money, mayne
Hoggin' and doggin'
Cheddar cheese, scrilla, scratch
And got them super fly pimp tags to attach
That's how we do it, hustle fluid runnin' through my veins
I got soldiers that'll dump for a little change

[South Park Mexican]
Ring around the police, pocket full of ho-zies
It's The Wizard, of thirty-six O-Z's
Swingin' and swervin', jealous man's burden
Hoes see my ride and wanna say they a virgin
20 inch turnin', keep they heart hurtin'
H-town City Slicker, but my ride German
Sippin' on bourbon, back woods a-burnin'
Back in the days, I couldn't get one word in
Now I park valet, with boys outta Cali
Players on toes like the motherfuckin' valley
If you were me
You'd be surrounded by security
Dope House, known for our purity

Repeat Chorus

[Verse 2]
[Kid Frost]
It's that west coast
Rider with them down south G's (Rider)
Seventeen shots, pull back and squeeze (Pop, pop)
Take ki's
Break 'em down to O's or P's, and I'll ball
Like I'm motherfuckin' ten feet tall
I'm laced
In this bitch like pcp
With spm
And little Low G
Down with the clika, Baby Beesh
And I'm a Hillwood
Hustle til I die, motherfucker
I'm a grind
In L. A. Til my very last day (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's a hard act to follow"

[Rasheed]
It's the
Philly Alumni
On the drum, I
Come out
With the type of
Funk that'll make a sucker cry, but he need no paper to fly
Ain't no lie
My organization down with worldwide hustlers
Gettin' sick
With the soldiers for that lifestyle livin' liver
The homie Frost
Don Cisco hopped up on the plane
Sheeze
That Baby Beesh pulled out the west coast mary jane
On the east coast
They gone and act up for that stack of paper
On the south side, they run with swangers, and they stackin' paper
We screaming, "Yay yay!"
We done blazin' from the maze
South Park Mexican and Rasheed makin' power moves every day
Cash and that Money
Like Universal comin' with Def Jams
If you a hater, we don't hear ya, haters

Repeat Chorus Twice

[Verse 3: Low G]
It's your boy Low G
From the center of the planet
I feel it
Get crunk and take Control like Janet
When you hear the hit
For shit, you gonna jam
Can't hang with the bandit
Haters can't stand it
Recommended
I'm in this, to win this
The Menace
Most worse that Dennis
Mmm
Me entiendes
Raches apendes
Remember me, Low G, from the Block Of Rock
Second Ward with the nine millimeter Glock
Keep it endless
Stayin' friendless
Cali-Tex connect
Kid Frost, Baby Beesh
Rasheed and the South Park Mex

Repeat Chorus Twice