21 Jumpstreet
Snoop Dogg, Big Tray Deee
Smoking a fat sack, right here on the station that plays
Only platinum hits, W Ballz
My dicks in your ear, caller you wanna say what?
Hello? Hello? Caller?
Oh the hell with it
This is something new for the underground
In the L.B... See you when I get back
Dedicated to the East Side, Two One Street
My favorite and your favorite
Snoop Froggy Dogg and somebody new Tha Dogg Pound
Check it out right here on the station that plays only platinum hits
187.4 on your FM dial
We be taking caller number 21 for those Janet Jackson tickets
So call in, 310-D.A.P.O.U.N.D
That's 310-P.O.U.N.D. bitch
That's Da Pound
Hear ye, hear ye, come one come all
It's the first annual G-nic and all my Doggs
Are invited, so go'n and light it
Cause it's the first time in a long time (right)
Reminiscing about the Fresh Fest back in '85
When the Dubs and Insaniacs used to hoo ride
On motherfuckers like it was the thing to do
Eighty-five, eighty-fo', eight-three, and year eighty-two (eighty-two)
You know what the fuck I'm talking about
After party on the lake at the big homie's house
And bet nobody bring a motherfucking gun
Cause everybody in the house's from two-one
Twenty-first street, burst street, where it all started
And you know East Side, Long Beach, the hardest
Niggas coming realer than The Real McCoy
So step with your rap and we bring the noise
It's the gang of fly bitches, homiez on the switches
Dice in the back if ya wanna get your riches
No snitches allowed inside the crowd
Cause this is the G thang, East Side L.B.C. brang
Finna have some fun represent two-one
And bet nobody bring a mothafucking gun and a
Yeah, King Park was the location
And to be a G, that was my destination
(We were) lookin' up to niggas coming up before me
And L.B.C. into my East Side homies (it's like)
Nobody can see you, but you (yeah, the East Side's perfect)
Nobody can see you, but you (ha ha, now that's worth it)
Nobody can see you, but you (hell yeah, the East Side's perfect)
Nobody can see you, but you (ha ha, yeah, now that's worth it)
If ya bring a strap, then ya have to trip
So if you on a mission, nigga, go'n and dip
We got meat to eat, freaks to meet
And chronic we can smoke on, and forever get our loc on
Strolling through the Park one day
Puffing on a fat ass J, with my homie named Tray
Deee tryin' to see if we could put this LBC thing
Back together like it was supposed to see
'Cause ya know I'm down with ya, to make 'em get the picture
And if I have to sit ya, down then I spit ya
Game from the heart, I came from the start
See I was regulating, when Cragars was the Daytons
Nigga let me interact with my black croaker sacks
And a gray golf hat tilted to the back (what's up?)
Ditchin' Sunday school to get a pack of Now and Laters
While I'm rolling with the Steelers and killin' with the raiders
And when we bang with the Saints then we ain't no joke
Come around from outta bounds and we goes for broke
Now we're breaking 'em up (hmm hmm), shaking em up (yeah)
And just for a second we're waking 'em up
(Continue) Giving up game on this tight ass beat
With a small dedication, to two-one street
Written by: CALVIN BROADUS, CHARLES CARTER, DELMER DREW ARNAUD, STEVE ARRINGTON, TRACY L. (PKA TRAY DEEE) DAVISLyrics © DAZAMATAZ, INC., BMG Rights Management, BRET D. LEWIS DBA SMOKING WORD RECORDS, Reservoir Media Management, Inc.Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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