Rick Rock Horns (feat. Marty James)

I need mine, quick fast in a hurry, pronto

Sucker run up and get a three-piece combo

Northern California, from the slums of the V

Where a dopefiend'll kill ya for a balloon of Khadafi

I'm on a special sauce right now, I'm oiled up, I'm turnt

Drankin, blankin, weeded, burnt

Bumpin my favorite rapper, go by the name of E-4-O

He was sayin shit 20 years ago y'all niggas just now though

It's over they head like a flying saucer, some of these suckers lost

Never had close encounters with the streets or the cops

My watch and my batteries, my rims and my tyres

My regulator, starter and my amplifier

Old school sidin on them though

Memphis mojo, adio, hoe

Woofers, tweeters, horns, slaps

Hookers, heaters, warrants, traps

I ain't gettin fed up tryin get this bread up

Ain't nobody fuckin with me

Come from Vallejo, pimps pushin tail

Triple beam scales got keys

I know fools bark 'bout what they got

But I'm really feedin these streets

Drug, smack, meth, pills, trees

Show me what you need

I just got off the phone with my pimp partner, he pimp hoes

Say he don't want no black girls, he want some pink toes

Some pink toes? Yeah, some white girls, mayne

They easy to manipulate, persuade and play with they fuckin brain

I said, "Man you a fool, why you do like that?"

He was like, "Feezy you know I'm about them dollars, mayne, I'm a mack"

I gotta admit, ever since I known him he kept a bad batch

A stable of hoes, kinda like those in a pocket full of snacks

Man, we some Bay boys, till we dead and gone

We like to talk slick and sly like the Family Stone

Little one-dollarnaires with big dreams in our eyes

Waitin for things to mature, waitin for things to materialize

I know some niggas that been shot in the head - and lived

I know some niggas that been shot in the leg - and died

I know some folks, they got they top split like a bagel

For snitchin and rollin over and tellin on folks like Canseco

I was born to sell, never snitch and tell

I keep stackin my cheese

Got folks up in jail, hell with no bail

The judge threw away them keys

Now I know fools bark 'bout what they got

But I'm really feedin these streets

Chip phones, laptops, bootleg DVD's

Just tell me what you need

Gotta go pick up my folks from the Greyhound station, he 33

Said he ain't had pussy since pussy had he

He went in when he was a baby, fresh out of Tehachapi

Started off in juvy, ended up in the penitentiary

Solid to the core, solidified, y'all

Say, "40 they love you, mayne, your name good behind them walls"

I said, "'preciate it, felly, I'm just tryina play my part

Stick to the rules and regulations the way that I was taught"

California raised a pit, not a or a chihuahua

Might do it or might send it, bust your head like a piñada

If you start it I'ma end it, I got the money and the power

It's paid for, not rented, same color as clam chowder

I got my right hand on my chest like I pledge allegiance

Tweekin and trippin on how fast my heart is beatin

Sour diesel chokin and smokin and blowin and puffin all day, my son

Loved one, I'm loaded like a shotgun

Got goons on the corner, all through California

You know 40 Water runs deep

Half desperation, half determination

Hustlin is made of these

Now I know fools bark 'bout what they got

But I'm really up in these streets

Spit real game - take heed

Just tell us what you need