Streets Iz Callin’
[Intro]
I see I gotta play another game, so…
If I’mma go out, I’mma go out right, you know’m sayin’?
(Talk to ‘em, dog) Cool wit’ it all
[Verse 1]
I’m untouchable (yeah)
I’m on a plane, Calcutta bound
Meeting with them people from that sample we done turned around
Trying to stop the war with a hardcore dancefloor type of lesson
‘Cause the truth will hurt forever more
Now what’s my punishment? (What?)
You mean to tell me I could get sued for making sure my people have some fun and shit? (Damn)
It’s a funny game
It’s like the time that ol’ boy got Pac, and me, and Jackie kicked off that Houston plane
For drinking Remy Martin, acting up and starting
And that’s all I got to say about that—pardon
‘Cause that’s a binge frenefit, nigga been the shit
I fucked around and did business with niggas on some friend shit
But to no avail, this is show and tell
Only thing I ever got for working was a broken nail
That’s all I really know about the streets
It’s the hustle, get hustled, get down or get beat
[Chorus: Chuckey]
Wake up in some herbs this morning
And I can hear the streets, they’re calling
Wake up in the pool this morning
I can feel the vibes, they’re calling
[Verse 2]
Now I done helped a lot of enemies that didn’t deserve it
That’s probably why I be the one that you won’t see at their service
We swerve and never nervous (Never) I’m a daredevil
Just ask the homie Pervis, nigga, we on their level
Ain’t nothin’ gon’ stop the flowing, and the 4-4’ing, and showing
That I done been a corporation when y’all was still growing
Niggas say I fell off, ha, (Fell off?) They gotta say that
That give ‘em false security to think they demo ain’t wack
Nigga, I’m standing on a bottle looking over the fence
Trippin’ off this bullshit that we up against
Crippin’ is mainstream, pimpin’ is ballfield
The truth is stranger than a lie but it’s all real
I’m a mack from the P-card, a G, a star
A rider, a rebel, independent, believe we are
Trying to forget about my past, that’s all
Open a bottle of Cristal and pass it to y’all
Now what up? Where the riders at?
[Chorus: Chuckey]
Wake up in some herbs this morning
And I can hear the streets, they’re calling
Wake up in the pool this morning
I can feel the vibes, they’re calling
[Verse 3]
Stomp out my house on the hill, to El Villa Negril
The Mediterranean, pay me and I’m back at the wheel
In Montego Bay, drinking with G, Dr. B
Chuckey mack a fe’, watch her climbing up the coconut tree
Suga Free is no sweeter than the bitterest fruits
Blame it on Compton and my niggerish roots
I’m down to kick a hater with the biggest of boots
It’s not about the strap, it’s ‘bout the nigga issues, fool
I’m SuperCalifornialisticexpeal-a
Creep around the city in a red Impala
Short-tempered nyggas get stuck and die wet
And short-money nyggas speak a different dialect
So give me my Cris’, give me my hits, give me my bitch
Give me my spliff, give me my fifth, give me my gift
Tropical skin color, nice and thin mother
Of my virtual kids because I hump in thin rubbers
Now…
[Chorus: Chuckey]
Wake up in some herbs this morning
I can hear the streets, they’re calling
Wake up in the pool this morning
I can feel the vibes, they’re calling