Survival 1st

(chorus) California's the state, where punk niggas die First thought be survival every mornin' when I rise So many murders and homicides in front of my eyes It's just some ballin'-ass niggas down to die for the West Side California's the state, where all bustas die First thought be survival every mornin' when I rise So many murders and homicides in front of my eyes It's just some ballin'-ass niggas down to die for the West Side Verse 1: (C-Bo) It could be the napalm, droppin' non stop bombs Armed like vietnam, dominatin' like King Kong Lyrical madness, step up, take up, and start blastin' Wicked as Stephen King when my mental and vocal clashes Syrran wrap, like a boa constrictor, wrappin' ya Up from your feet to your neck, nigga, attackin' ya These 4-5 hollow tips will have you backin' up I only do my dirt at night like dracula Verse 2: (Lunasice) I'm wanted by the feds, these niggas, they want me dead Cuz I done spread through their territory like the HIV Sun down spots, suckas swallow Glocks If they know by these rocks I'm pushin' for the blocks Every corner you past, that show will run him up in his ass Gettin' the cash, while Mr. Bad puts down the smash I dumps quick, my clique be so thick With hi-tech mob shit, crooked as Soviet (chorus) Verse 3: (C-Bo) The house on the water, independent shippin' quarters Movin' tapes like K across every border Takin' over your brain, causin' addiction like 'caine More deadly than a grand shot of Heroine in the vein Inflict pain, on any nigga that step in my range Retalliate with hollow tips, blast, and splatter your brain So remain calm, this shit is C-4 bomb Set trip off your motherfuckin' city like 'Nam Best recognize, step up and check eyes Ain't to many busta-ass niggas from the West Side I do or die for mine, livin' life like I'm blind Solo on a flame line, dumpin' hollow tip 9's Verse 4: (Marvaless) Survival first, ask questions later Movin' patterns on your bitch-ass cuz I heard that you was a hater. Oh who Can save ya? Defeated your purpose, now you caught up in some deep shit Who got the deepest murder clique, that's some would sick This game is way past wicked. Still I commence to kick it West side niggas stackin' meal tickets Surpassin' weak bitches, evadin' snitches, and sayin' bomb Killafornia style when we ride droppin' bombs Verse 5: (C-Bo) Palay Palay, Tommy Hilfiger cold, can I? Polo, Jabo, Guess, Khakis and Levis Ballers is what they call us, too much for the ATL Lexus, Benz, Beemer, Vet, VIP, 112 Might catch me at the Platinum, sippin' on some Hen, rolex down Ride ST 400 Lex through the town Clown, and you'll catch a hot metal tab up to the chest Don't make me kill a nigga out east and head West Side Till I die, reason why, I stay high To maintain my composure and attitude when I ride Don' push me, I'm too close to the edge Might take one to the head (chorus X2) Verse 6: (C-Bo) It's the season of the sickness, marks on my shitlist Comin' up out the psychadelic bui'ness, don't sit in it When I gets to bustin', I let loose like a Mac-10 I'm born and raised a hustler, got love for my family, fuck friends Never been disgusted, but I just like love it Wit my streetsweeper, put hoes in your bucket Man, I just say fuck it, I can't live with society Now, how many niggas in yo clique wanna ride on me? (chorus to end)