South Central L.A.

[Intro - G-Funk Style and Gun shots]

Yeah…
West Coast…
The early 90s…
Sirens, helicopters, liquor stores and streetlights
To all my Boyz in the hood! 
Welcome to the block…

[Verse 1]
Cracked asphalt, heat rising off the boulevard,
Blue lights flash like the city playin’ bodyguard.
Homies on the corner with the bassline thumpin’,
Police roll slow but the tension keep jumpin’.
Low-rider slide with the chrome so bright,
Palm trees lean while the block ignite.
OG on the steps with a blunt and a stare,
Sayin’ “Life out here? Man, it ain’t playin’ fair.”
Liquor store glass got the metal gate tight,
Everybody know it might pop tonight.
Young bloods flex with a rage in their chest,
Tryna prove to the world they the hardest in the West.

[Hook]
South Central nights, yeah the bassline loud,
Gunshots echo through a restless crowd.
Streetlights glow but the sky stay dark,
Every corner got a story, every soul got scars.
South Central ride, let the low-ride creep,
Sirens sing lullabies nobody sleep.
Dreams get buried where the block stay raw,
Livin’ by the street, by the street’s cold blooded law.

[Verse 2]
Helicopter beam sweep the roofs like a blade,
Whole hood freeze when the spotlight fade.
Cops jump out with the hands on steel,
Treat the whole damn block like a battlefield.
Homie got ambition but the street got claws,
One bad night turn a kid to a cause.
Another candle lit on the sidewalk curb,
Another mama cryin’ with a voice that slurs.
Bass from the trunk make the pavement shake,
Old school funk while the city stay fake.
Everybody tough till the chaos unfold,
Then the silence hit heavy and the air turn cold.

[Hook]
South Central nights, yeah the bassline loud,
Gunshots echo through a restless crowd.
Streetlights glow but the sky stay dark,
Every corner got a story, every soul got scars.
South Central ride, let the low-ride creep,
Sirens sing lullabies nobody sleep.
Dreams get buried where the block stay raw,
Livin’ by the street, by the street’s cold blooded law.

[Verse 3]
Old heads talk but the young blood wild,
Every hard gangster once was a child.
Basketball courts turn battleground quick,
One wrong word make the tension go thick.
Graffiti kings paint rage on the wall,
Sayin’ “We still here though the system want us fall.”
Dreams of escape in a ride down Crenshaw,
But the hood pull tight with an iron claw.
Still the funk ride smooth through the chaos and smoke,
Talkbox whisper while the street stay broke.
Life on the edge where the brave ones crawl,
Tryna rise from the gutter where the shadows fall.

[outro]
Still we ride through the chaos and pain,
Chrome flash bright through the L.A. rain.
Tryna find hope in the smoke-filled sky,
Before another young soldier gotta lay down to die.

[Outro]
Yeah…
Bass still knockin’
West Coast nights
Palm trees, streetlights, broken dreams
Still ridin’. 
Still survivin’.
Bitches

G-funk forever

90’s G-Funk, male, low rider vibes, west coast, NWA vibes, Snoop Dogg vibe, west coast hip-hop, rap