Speakers On Blast

It's not usual, the game be, all up on some South shit
 Straight West Coasting, you can tell by my outfit
 Red 'nati fitted, "Blood in, Blood out" shit
 Empty jelly jars, nigga, bird in the couch shit
 The mad rapper, Oscar the Grouch shit
 Except when I'm hopping out of cans, I'm pulling out shit
 Dippin' the 4 though, double X 3-D Polo
 If hip-hop was the league, I'd be the motherfuckin logo
 Your last shit was so-so, you should sign to Jermaine
 I've been hard since I was solo
 Niggas feel my pain, I make it rain without the strippers
 Go against the grain, and put your shit back like some clippers
 I bang and then I hang out at the Staples like Blake Griffin
 You can tell I'm getting money the way that glass house is sitting
 I mash out the strip then like Nas when I'm dippin
 Feeling like God's Son, the way that It Was Written
 Them boys want they music on blast
 Don't turn me down, turn me up every time them cops pass
 Mashed on the gas, am I getting high, don't even ask
 Cause I got another ounce up in the stash
 Them boys want they music on blast
 Don't turn me down, turn me up every time them cops pass
 Mashed on the gas, am I getting high, don't even ask
 Cause I take 2 hits, and then I pass
 I see the cops in the rearview, why can't a motherfucker chill in the car
 Feelin' like Missy, why you all up in my grill
 They must know that I got bird stashed all up in my grill
 Camouflage by the Armor All while it's sparkling off my wheels
 And I fuck hoes that pray on Dwight Howard and Shaquille
 Not them throwback rats they be on showin' college hill
 For real, I think my first album sold 5 mil'
 And you say to yourself "He's broke"
 Well how the hell am I ballin', like Spalding
 I did a couple of movies, now agents calling and calling
 Can't get to the phone right now cause balls is all in this bitch mouth
 When did we start taking these tricks out?
 Now she gon' run her big mouth and tell her girlfriend
 You had her all up in the wind
 Blowing yo cheese on Louie Vuitton, and now that bitch is in the wind
 And after the next draft, she gon' start that cycle again
 How you claimin' that bitch when she with him?
 Come again cause
 Daddy Fat Sax, my balls are on your chin, but can you tell me where my dick's at?
 Come order ghetto, head hunter, head buster through the chit-chat
 I skip to the lou, my darling bring the thunder, I'm the lightning that strikes twice
 Motherfucker, call me mass of, cause I run the plantation and I'm whooping niggas asses
 If they disrespect the presentation, below the Mason-Dixon, we facin' the basses that were missin' pimpin'
 You can embrace it or come face to face with total devastation
 My mojo is never fadin', I'm in my Optimus Prime transform
 Switch it up, heat it up, speed it up, that means I'm gone
 Like gears, ahead of your Buzz, Toy Story and club songs
 Boy, gone, the A-T-L-iens are phoning home
 But I feel like a librarian, cause style's are being' loaned out like books
 A castle full of crooks, rape and pillage
 They'll do anything for money, I bet misleading the village
 Not from New England, but I pack a patriot
 Not from Atlanta, but I got the cater
 Not from Chicago, but I'm a bear
 I'm a bay area nigga, 49er, Raider
 I'm about my bread man, I ain't no sucker
 Now these bitch ass niggas soft as table butter
 I'm about my riches, magazines, street hustler
 You can ask your uncles, daddies, mothers, and your older brothers
 But I used to flee through that yellow white
 Sellin' that shit below the retail price
 I'm a rare breed like the bike club, get it right
 Desperado like Tori Amos, shout out to dynamite
 I got my red cup, and some green
 What kind of green you smoking pimp? Blue dream
 My nigga let my hit that there hemp, do your thing
 How many woofers in your trunk? 4 15s