Ronald Reagan Era

We're far from good, not good from far

Ninety miles per hour down Compton Boulevard

with the top down screaming we don't give a fuck

Drink my forty ounce of freedom while I roll my blunt

cause the kids just ain't alright

Oh shit nigga, something bout to happen

Nigga, this shit, nigga, this sound like thirty ki's under the Compton court building

Hope the dogs don't smell it

Welcome to vigilante, eighties so don't you ask me

I'm hungry, my body's antsy, I rip through your fucking pantry

Peeling 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 nothing harder since Daddy Kane

Take it in vain, Vicodins couldn't ease the pain

Lightning 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 traveling freight train

Are you trained, to go against Dracula?

Dragging the record industry by my fangs

AK clips, money clips and gold chains

You walk around with a P-90 like it's the 90s

Bullet to your temple, you're homicidal, remind me, that

Compton Crip niggas ain't nothing to fuck with

Bompton Pirus ain't nothing to fuck with

Compton eses ain't nothing 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

Woop-de-woop, woop-de-woop-woop, woop-de-woop

Woop-de-woop, woop-de-woop-woop

Let's hit the county building, gotta cash my check

Spend it all on a forty-ounce to the neck

And in retrospect I remember December being the hottest

Squad cars, neighborhood wars and stolen Mazdas

I tell you motherfuckers that life is full of hydraulics

Up and down, get a six-four, better know how to drive it

I'm driving on E with no license or registration

Heart racing, racing past Johnny because he's racist

1987, the children on Ronald Reagan

raked the leaves off your front porch with a machine blowtorch

really out here

really out

Newborn massacre, hopping out the passenger

with calendars, cause your day coming

Run him down and then he gun him down, I'm hoping that you fast enough

Even the legs of Michael Johnson don't mean nothing, because

Compton Crip niggas ain't nothing to fuck with

Bompton Pirus ain't nothing to fuck with

Compton eses ain't nothing 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

Woop-de-woop, woop-de-woop-woop, woop-de-woop

Woop-de-woop, woop-de-woop-woop

Can't detour when you at war with your city, why run for it?

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

I had the chopper and I tore they ass

Can't detour when you at war with your city, why run for it?

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, yeah, yeah

Whoa, whoa, whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa

Whoa, whoa, whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa

Whoa, whoa, whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa

Whoa, whoa, whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa

We really out here my nigga, you niggas don't understand my nigga

I'm off of pill and Remy Red my nigga, tripping my nigga