Gold Rush

(álbum: Gold Rush - 2018)

Cal-i-for-ni-a
We keep it lit up every single day
Now it's a West Coast thing
We keep it rowdy, no we won't change
(Wild-wild-wild-wild west)

Smoke don't settle 'cause we got the best strains
Our gun laws suck, but that's if you obey
Cent Cal, Green Pee born and raised
Can't mention the valley, unless you mention my name
From the Bay to LA, Fresno to Barstow
Dip in my lip, pistol in the console
Throwing Coronas in the back that I hollow
Headlights off, cops can't follow
Sleeves off, got my ink on
Dicks in flannel got my drink on
It's West Coast homie, but they all got it wrong
'Cause we ain't all surfers where we come from
I'm a gold rush outlaw, tattooed hands
Black fly shades, checker board bands
So I'm a hoodie with a silver bullet can
And the smoke don't settle anywhere I stand

Cal-i-for-ni-a
We keep it lit up every single day
Now it's a West Coast thing
We keep it rowdy, no we won't change
(Wild-wild-wild-wild west)

Get your drink on, get your smoke on
Get your drink on, get your smoke on
Get your drink on, get your smoke on
Get your drink on, get your smoke on

I got girls in my desk though
Trust me, they love me
Big Bern, baby girl give me all of her money
Yeah she turnt up, and she turnt out
All this weed got your boy feeling burt out
Burnt out in the valley get money fo' sho'
Hit LA for a week, bought a brand new Rolls
Yeah I'm stunting, see the whip
I got all these bitches on my (Uh)
Yeah long nights, and bar fights
We drink vodka straight, put it on ice
I like white girls, and the black girls
Lil [?] bitch, I'll make your toes curl
Yeah, every where we go we rolling up weed
In the back of the VIP, I'm on [?]
Yeah, deep in the VIP, she don't eat
The Moonshine Bandits, this bitch's [?]

Cal-i-for-ni-a
We keep it lit up every single day
Now it's a West Coast thing
We keep it rowdy, no we won't change
(Wild-wild-wild-wild west)

Get your drink on, get your smoke on
Get your drink on, get your smoke on
Get your drink on, get your smoke on
Get your drink on, get your smoke on

Gold rush, better grab you a pan
'Cause the nuggets are green and they stink up your hands
Sun beam lays, long legs stay tan
Party in Pismo when tires hit sand
Convoy Doges, Super Duty Fords
Lincoln Continentals with the suicide doors
From the taco trucks, to the corner stores
Bourbon and Turkey back, keg full of Coors
Blowing out the stack off of Jameo and Jack
Left the front of a Chevy, but we're sagging the back
Cowgirls got tats, half bills are flat
And the girls shoot shots like the boys shoot trap
Gold rush outlaw, blue collar hands
Girls with tats, ol' steak ham
Find us in the hills, find us in the sand
But the smoke don't settle anywhere we stand

Cal-i-for-ni-a
We keep it lit up every single day
Now it's a West Coast thing
We keep it rowdy, no we won't change