LOW PROFILE GANGSTERS - What The Fuck You Smokin' lyrics

rate me

[Frank V]

I'm a Low Pro thuggsta, used to be a muggsta

And if you heard Overdose you'd think I own a drug store

Raps like Rocha, or better yet coca

My beats are pure like heroin in the streets

So take a puff of the stuff, fill up your seringe

Cuz my shit's rough and tough and off the motherfucking hinge

Through your area, zip code, trip code

I'm not a Busta, but I'll flip it to Flipmode

Get rich mode, get drunk hit a bitch mode

That '64 Chevrolet hit a switch mode

Royal T knows my vision, get paid and make a million

Stay ghetto rich

[Royal T]

It's the motherfucking Royal T

I keep it cracking on the streets of SD

I fuck with G's, you can't fuck with me

I got them killers, homey you can't see, ese you can't be

You're all slipped up and you think you're hard

I got some little homies that'll pull your card

Put you in a coma, hit the next corner

Fool you can't hang with the Low Pro Gang

[Chorus x2: Lil' Rob]

You fucking chavala, homey you ain't nada

You're bound to catch a bala in the side of your Impala

Who the fuck you joking, what the fuck you smoking

Whatever it is got you buzzing, cuz homeboy you ain't nothing

[Lil' Rob]

I step into the battlefield, one vato you can't overlook

Dropping shit with Royal T, Frank V, Yogi, and all the crooks

And we stop right through the blocks, got pedo we got the glocks

And you know we can't be stopped, baddest rolas ever dropped

And we do it all the days, keeping up our evil ways

Drop the top on Chevrolets, the differences that Low Pro pays

If you don't believe me you'll see me in my '63

Chrome'd out to the bone holmes, or in my Fleetwood, roam holmes

I got a fucking bag of tricks, drinking by the pack of six

And I'll grab another one, that's a twelve pack and I still ain't done

Hotties young and I am too, parties I'm invited to

Crazy fucking place to be, and I fucking aim to please

Rolling in the two-tone, Chevy gangster lights on

Flying just like Superman, but I don't got no tights on

42-30's creased up, that's how I always am

Cruising in an oldie, bumping all them oldie jams

[Chorus x2]

[Bandit]

Cruising through the streets of Los Angeles

Everywhere I roll's looking scandelous

Roll your window half way if you can't handle this

Homey watch your back cuz we gonna die for this

Curb serving in the hoods, making paper, for sure we roll

We give a fuck where you're from cuz that's just how shit go

Keep it cracking, make it happen, it the streets of the beat

People dying, bullets flying, see the news on tv

Real fools, real dues, in the streets where I'm from

Busting shots at the cops, homey fuck the dumb

But set it off doing dirt, putting my name on the map

You recognize where I'm from and that's where I'm at

Phat Bandit marinating in the streets of LA

No player hation when you see me cuz it's all hoodgate

West Coast living, chilling, in the place to be

We got your back little homey, come and ride with me

[Chorus x2]