Ronald Reagan Era (His Evils)

[Produced by Tae Beast] [Intro: Ash Riser] We're far from good, not good from far 90 miles per hour down Compton Boulevard With the top down, screaming, "We don't give a fuck!" Drink my 40 ounce of freedom while I roll my blunt Cause the kids just ain't alright [Interlude: Ab-Soul] Oh, shit nigga, somethin' 'bout to happen, nigga, this shit.. Nigga this sound like 30 ki's under the Compton court buildi'g Hope the dogs don't smell it [Verse 1] Welcome to vigilante, 80's so don't you ask me I'm hungry, my body's antsy, I rip through your fuckin' pantry Peelin' off like a Xanny, examine my orchestra Granny said when I'm old enough, I'll be sure to be all I can be You niggas Marcus Camby, washed up Pussy, fix your panties, I'm Mr. Marcus, you getting fucked, uh You ain't heard nothin' harder since Daddy Kane Take it in vain, Vicodins couldn't ease the pain Lightnin' bolts hit your body, you thought it rained Not a cloud in sight, just the shit that I write Strong enough to stand in front of a travellin' freight train, are you trained? To go against Dracula draggin' the record industry by my fangs AK clips, money clips and gold chains You walk around with a P90 like it's the 90's Bullet to your temple, your homicide'll remind me that [Hook] Compton Crip niggas ain't nothin' to fuck with Bompton Pirus ain't nothin' to fuck with Compton éses ain't nothin' to fuck with But they fuck with me, and bitch I love it Woop de woop, woop de woop-woop, woop de woop Woop de woop, woop de woop-woop (California Dungeons) Woop de woop, woop de woop-woop, woop de woop Woop de woop, woop de woop-woop (California Dungeons) [Verse 2] Let's hit the county buildin', gotta cash my check Spend it all on a 40-ounce to the neck and In retrospect I remember December being the hottest Squad cars, neighborhood wars and stolen Mazdas I tell you mothafuckas that life is full of hydraulics Up and down, get a 64, better know how to drive it I'm drivin' on E with no license or registration Heart racin', racin' past Johnny because he's racist 1987, the children of Ronald Reagan raked the leaves off Your front porch with a machine blowtorch (I'm really out here, my nigga) He blowin' on stress, hopin' to ease the stress (Like, really out here) He copping some blow, hopin' that it can stretch Newborn massacre, hopping out the passenger With calendars, cause your date's comin' Run him down and then he gun him down, I'm hopin' that you fast enough Even the legs of Michael Johnson don't mean nothin', because [Hook] [Bridge] Can't detour when you're at war with your city, why run for? Just ride with me, just die with me, that gun store, right there When you fight, don't fight fair cause you'll never win, yeah [Outro: Ab-Soul] Right, I had the yapper, and I tore they ass up We really out here, my nigga, you niggas don't understand, my nigga I'm off of pill and Remy Red, my nigga, trippin', my nigga