"Bay Area Ballers (Ultimate Gangsta Mix)"
Hook:
From the Bay to the O, we keep it G,
Dubs runnin’ courts, Niners runnin’ streets.
Giants with the bats, A's with the heat,
In the rap game, we don’t miss a beat.
Verse 1:
Warriors droppin’ dimes, Steph icy with the wrist,
Niners in the trenches, no team they gonna miss.
Giants bring the smoke, every pitch is a threat,
A's lockin’ down the field, you can place your bets.
Verse 2:
In the booth, we spit that real, E-40 with the slang,
Too $hort on the track, keep it pimpin’, never change.
Keak with the slaps, Dre’s ghost in the ride,
Yukmouth in the mix, got that gangsta vibe.
Verse 3:
If somebody came foul, homies stepped up quick,
Handled that shit, had them fools hella shook, no trick.
And after the dust settled, the party got lit,
Big booty chicks, the ones we all wanna hit.
Verse 4:
Rockin’ Jabo jeans, white tees stay crisp,
Giants fitted on, A's cap with the twist.
Black and orange, green and gold, reppin’ all the sets,
Silver, black, blue, and gold, Bay Area’s the best.
Verse 5:
Cruisin’ through the city, Bay Bridge in the view,
Slappin’ that mob music, always stay true.
From Oakland to Frisco, we run these streets,
Bay life forever, this vibe’s so sweet.
Verse 6:
Hustle never stops, grindin’ every single day,
From the East Bay blocks to the San Jose way.
We rep the Golden State,
Verse 7:
Back in the Point, where the fog roll deep,
OGs on the porch, never scared of the heat.
Broadway at midnight, streets come alive,
Candy paint scrapers, hustlers tryna survive.
Verse 8:
From Hunters point to Lake Merritt shine,
Every turf got a soldier, on that frontline.
Vallejo to Richmond, every hood got tales,
From dice games to corners where the block prevails.
Verse 9:
Feds hit the turf, but we bounce right back,
Talkin’ codes on the line, never leakin’ the pack.
We don’t do it for the ‘Gram, we move in the dark,
Like a ghost in the system, still leavin’ that mark.
Verse 10:
Side shows lit, rubber burnin' on the ground,
Hyphy in the veins when that beat come around.
Glock in the stash, money in the trunk,
Pops from the Moe said "never be a punk."
Verse 11:
Sunday at Dolores, still mobbin’ with pride,
Mexican homies in the low lows, swingin' they ride.
Cookouts in the Mission, lumpia in the pan,
Unity in the Bay — that’s the motherfuckin’ plan.
Verse 12:
Still remember them days, cold nights on the curb,
Chasin’ big dreams with nothin’ but words.
Now we all laced up, jewels in the grill,
From the gutter to the light, made it off pure skill.
Hook (Final):
From the Bay to the O, we built this creed,
With hustle, with heart, with loyalty and speed.
Bay blood in my veins, never switch, never fold,
This the anthem of the cold — forever bold.
[Adlibs Behind Vocals]
"Yee!" (before hook)
"Ayy!" (during beat drop)
"That's that Bay slap!" (under verse 2)
"Mobbin’..." (during verse 5 pause)
"Ugh!" (E-40 grunt throughout hook)
"Still ghost ridin'..." (under final hook)
[Cover Art Concept]
"Bay Area
