Cali Chronic Lyrics by Mase

Cali Chronic Lyrics

    Turn it up

    [huddy combs]
    Yo, when i roll you know the cats be out
    So you cowards got no choice but to rat me out
    I call in from the pen to try to see what that be 'bout
    Cuz i catch a fool slip and yo, his ass is out

    [blinky blink]
    Hud, stay on the low, pop two cops
    Thug, against all odds, like tupac
    I'm caked up, dog-tired from jacob
    Platinum, reach for it then wake up

    [huddy]
    For top dollar yo, i squeeze my trigger
    And lord knows, i'll lead this nigga
    Cuz i'm down for whatever
    Matter of fact, i'm down for the cheddar
    Try to clown and get yo' ass layed down forever

    [blink]
    Niggas hate to see a g come up
    Young niggas that run up get gun up
    That's the real, seen the nigga pass the steel
    Even wink and yo' ass get killed, all out

    [meeno]
    1 - this is for the know-knotters
    Six-fo' riders, all them ones are lowriders
    All weed smokers, olde e sippers
    All dead homies, and o.g. nigga's
    Throw it up

    This is for the know-knotters
    Six-fo' riders, all them ones are lowriders
    Whether blued out or flamed out
    Mask on, ridin' with them big things out
    Yay a yayyy

    [meeno]
    Light up the izzy-izzy ba-ba, ask yourself, why try?
    Touch the untouchable brotha that's in front of you
    Harlem usa be the place that i come from
    Twenty-ninth and lenox be that place i get the guns from
    Vacant lots be the route that we used to run from
    Thirty-second precinct until jackie caught the dum-dum
    It's hot now, cops now, all out gotta eat
    Close food shop down, send them across the street
    My force overheat cuz the cause is cheap
    Reminiscin' all my homies that i lost on the streets
    Dos bruce, lb and even stevie d
    Pour some liquor out and throw it up for a g
    Nrb, be the click they claim to be
    So if worse come to worse, do the same for me

    Repeat 1

    [loon]
    Now, we drink colt '45, tote 45's
    Smoke 'til we high, loc til' we die
    Got locked up in crenshaw
    Somebody said, 'foo, what you in for?!'
    Jail mental', named wendel
    Did 15, and got about 10 more
    Oh, he was silent than braille
    In '83 was the first with hydraulics
    Caught his first bid dealin' with narcotics
    And had daytons and always kept 'em polished
    You taught me about khakis and converse
    And if a foo' try to move then you ball first, feel me?
    But now i'm stackin' my grip
    Back in the trick, come out a day early is a slap on the wrist
    But one time never sleep on it
    I went from harlem to la fool, so speak on it

    Repeat 1 until fade

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