West Side psychopath

Step out the Chevy, locs on my face

Looking at a world that’s a goddamn disgrace

I’m the criminal minded, the one they despise

See the fire in my soul, see the truth in my eyes

I don't rap for the charts, I rap for the block

Keep a grip on the game like a hand on a Glock

The industry’s soft, full of suckers and fakes

But I’m building an empire, whatever it takes.

Straight out the gutter, the king of the coast

Doing what the rest of these cowards can’t boast

Westside till I die, let the bass line thud

I got the concrete running through my cold, black blood.

Check the resume, I’m the one they call boss

Cross the line, boy, and you’ll suffer the loss

100 degrees, but I’m colder than January

Turning every rap rival into a memory

It’s the Predator’s hour, I’m hunting for gold

The story of a rebel that's never been told

Bucking the system, I don't give a damn

Better recognize the beast, yeah, you know who I am.

(Sirens wailing)

They want to lock me in a padded room

But I’m the one bringing the sonic boom

The system is failing, the pressure is rising

I’m the nightmare that you’re not realizing.

I’m a psychopath with a pen, losing my mind

Leaving every weak-hearted rapper behind

My brain is a cage where the demons reside

There’s nowhere to run and there’s nowhere to hide

They call me a menace, a ghost in the dark

I’m the bite of the beast, not the sound of the bark

Pure Westside madness, no soul left to save

I’m digging your career in a shallow grave.

I walk through the valley of the shadow of death

With the smell of the struggle on every breath

Institutionalized, but I’m breaking the locks

I’m the one throwing stones at the glass box

You talk about money, I talk about power

The clock is ticking, this is my hour

I’m the glitch in the matrix, the static on screen

The coldest motherfucker that you’ve ever seen.

Straight out the gutter, the king of the coast

Doing what the rest of these cowards can’t boast

Westside till I die, let the bass line thud

I got the concrete running through my cold, black blood.

Last call for the haters, get out of the way

The Don is in the building, I came here to play

No "Good Day" today, it’s a dark afternoon

I’m howling at the sun, not the silver moon

Reality’s a prison, so I burned the keys

Making all these local rappers fall to their knees

Unpredictable, unstable, I’m ready to snap

The most dangerous man to ever walk on a track.

(Beat fades into a low, rumbling bass)

Yeah... keep looking over your shoulder.

The South Central psychopath is here.

You can't lock up the truth.

Westside. Ganster!!!!!

Hillywood Records

Hillywood Records

Hillywood Records