Rimpaus Finest

(álbum: Slauson Boy Vol. 1 - 2005)

Light that shit, nigga, smoke that
All the chronic in the sky
Feel me, feel me

Stop, look, and listen
Crank your box, turn up your system
Bang it on the block where you pitching
My synthesis is reminiscent of what rap missing
My gold glisten due to the zones I sold in the district
I got bitches, that got niggas, that got digits
When she hit the mall, it's his cash she shopping with
She know my size, it's 36 and 10 in kicks
So she spend it, then hit the women's shit and shoplift
It's crazy how many ladies call me "baby"
Monica and Mercedes, Tamika and LaShay
We be up all night, fucking, she sucking monkey bites on my swipe
Smoking blunts like this must be life
But then it's back to the grind and grizzly, ya'm'saying
With so much work, I chop rocks iwth guillotines
I want big things but them thoughts is still a dream
So I'm on the block until I get the cheese, 'cause
The paper, the cash, the dollars, the profit I'm after
You saving a stash, shoebox and what's under your mattress
I stay on the ave, I've been watching the murders happen
I hit the alley, get a sack and burn a blunt and pass it
On the block, on the bike, on the handlebars I'm rolling
Ducking them choppers that talk and watch when they patrolling
Chrome super soaker, pockets with rocks bulging
Double ups under Folger cans, don't let the man know this
Pull up, what up? What you need? Bounce
Eighths to quarters to halves to the whole ounce
My niggas use methods to stretch it and zone out
And connect with Mexicans sending pounds down south

Rimpau ain't a mystery, we blast them guns
I hold down four blocks just standing on one
My life is Russian Roulette and it's randomly spun
Put heaters in granny's house just to her my love
And yeah, my mama crazy but she pampered the funds
She knew that I wasn't just the average son
I'm Slauson, where if you criss-cross, get jumped
We drive MC's with Hammers that make you run, see
I was raised where all the damage is done
I'll shoot dice late night where niggas won't even come
It's murder, ever since Joe's Juicy Burger
Round here, cowards with Jheri curls get burnt up
Niggas, I'm from the slums
And down here, it's hard to breathe when you got a shell stuck in your lungs
And I do it for fun, the hood need me here
The smokers cheer when I run from the ones, come on

Since a youngster, always loved the hood
Didn't know the history but I knew it was more to it
Croker Sacks with Dickies pants, and hard music
Shorty hop to it, loving the movement, she true indeed
She puff weed like me, but she don't MC
High off the doja green, L.A. chosen scene
Back streets like, "Nigga, this is alley music"
Pump sacks how my niggas off in Cali do it
Often badly bruising haters 'cause they mad we do it
Get that money then fly just like a pack of poison
Then heating on 'em like Vicks
We QB, passing the spliff, packages sell, tryna grip
From the ceiling to floor, how that dough growing
Mami fine, loving the hustle like I love to do it
Can't knock it, we back on the block with K-Swiss and Converse
White Tee and sharp creases what we work for