Yo what's up? (Aiyyo, what's up Kurupt) A nigga feel so low that I can't come up Dippin down the 101 blazin smoke A trunk full of beats for why'all to go
Kurupt, Snoop, let's do the damn thing Show all the little homies how the Dogg Pound bang
Dash, fast, the upper class Went from low life to a brother with cash
Spending all of my time and like half my cash Went from smoking dimes to smoking mafia bags Went from sometimes to smoking all in the bath And Lord knows I might host the Weed Award Show
I'm looking for the 105 getting off the 405 Be with this bad bitch, she living in the south I'm met her at the club with my nigga Gotti 5-3, thick, with a lot of pride
That's what I love about the homes (What's that?) Its just like a nigga getting trained, the homie spittin game I'm trying to make a dollar out of 15 cents
Money and funny niggas don't mix at all And Cali's the perfect whether to get your chips and ball So you can touch it while you're here or die without I'd rather have it, since it really don't matter
The world spin around much longer They thought that the West Coast leave
A G is a G which we all know A bitch is a bitch as a hoes a hoe Watch as I strut these, cousin, I'ma bank æem bank æem Dammit, it feels good, gangsta
Its three gangstas in a Cadillac With TV's, CD's, some weed and three weeks Chucks and French braids, blunts and gold chains Hats and white T's, fag acts like police
When we on the East Coast we get nothing but love All up in the club, DJ holla'd out who we was I looked around, seen some MC's and grabbed the mic And then I lit they ass up to keep the party on the high
Hit me on the Motorola holla at the homie What's up sitting down sipping a Corona (What's up Kurupt!) About to dip through, blaze up a quarter
Ounce, bounce with the homies and make the tour bounce