"East Bay Gangster (Reggae)" as written by and Shon Adams Robert Lee Green Jr.....
Welcome to the ghetto,
And this is the place,
Young niggas be throwin'
They rocks up in my face
My homey G be yellin' yo this like a holdup,
I'm pullin' my gat to make
A muthafucka fold up
In my Jag on my phone talkin' business,
Mac 10 to my dome Yo what is this
I'm tellin' him drop it Yo let's box and we can go a round,
He dropped his gat I picked it up and blew his ass down
I know it's scandalous but a simple fuckin' dirty fact,
I'd rather hear my Uzi rat-a-ta-ta-tat-tat
It's for protection not to kill or break a nigga's bones,
Back to the story, here's the story B the story on
His guts were scattered he was splattered up against the wall,
My homey G was on my phone buggin' off my call
I tried to smash but I'm lookin' at some high beams
Into the eyes of some muthafuckin' dope fiend
He seen me shoot him so I shot him blew his ass off,
I shot my Uzi up in the air and then I smashed off
I'm rollin' thicker than a milkshake,
I like to eat crab but I prefer steak
I ain't no joke muthafucka so don't play yourself,
I flip you over fry your ass like a patty melt
And if you ever disrespect me I'ma bank ya,
So say what up to the mothafuckin' east bay gangsta

Meneme forgot to use my nine 'cause 5-0 bombed the AK,
The 187 posse robbed the bank in a way.
Legal or illegal it's the way of the bay.
The government keep the profit of cocaine in a way.
Me shootin' up me shootin' up if he don't give me my pay
The niggas up on the block send for me every day.
A thousand everyday will keep the 5-0 away.
Just call me east bay G-A-N-G-S-T-A

Looked in my mirror cose range right behind me,
Tinted windows up in the Benz 190
I ain't no dumy knew right off he's tryin' to kill me,
If I don't smash full of buckshot he will fill me
Hangin out the car shots scatter windows shatter trouble,
I'll shoot him up bathed in his blood like Mr Bubble 187 did I do it with an AK,
Another day a nigga dead up in the alleyway
Why did I do it, it's my pistol and I packed it,
I think they need to lock my ass up in a straight jacket
So all you suckas listen close to this warnin',
While I get into your ass like Charmin
Funky shit that so dope so open your mouth up,
You ever shuck me I'ma blow your fuckin' house up
And if you ever disrespect me I'ma bank ya,
So say what up to the muthafuckin' eastbay gangsta

Gi-gi-da gi-gi-da gangsta,
Gi-gi-da gi-gi-da gangsta kickin' the funky
Gi-gi-da gi-gi-da gi-gi-da gi gi-gi-da gi-gi-da gangsta ? G-Nut
Because he's down with the Fac,
Lynch muthafuckas when we're coolin' the block.
The X the L the A the are-G-E,
The murder fac 187 posse.
The E-A-Ski is with 187,
The CMT is with 187

Now as I'm maxin' in this muthafuckin' jail cell,
With nothin' but dried up funk to smell
I thinkin' about the times that I ganked fools
And why I'm coolin' in these fucked up county blues
I've murder muthafuckas singular and in a pair,
And in the morning I'll be getting the electric chair
But do I care, Yo I could give a fuck less,
The CIA, FBI got it in the chest
Tappin' my phone calls, wires hidden in my walls,
I had the money flowin' smooth like Niagara Falls
The glory got so I'm considered a murderous criminal,
Because my bullet ate his ass like a cannibal
Before I chopped him with AK I made him say his grace, and then I
Emptied the clip off up in his fuckin' face
His partner callin' for backup as I was breakin' out,
Nigga refused to die, that's what I heard him shout
I hit the corner with quickness because I ain't the one,
To feel the fuckin' blast of a shotgun
And when they fry my ass, I'm goin' straight Hell,
That's why I'm kickin' you tales of a jail cell
And if you ever disrespect me I'ma bank ya,
So say what up to the mothafuckin' eastbay gangsta

Dja Mon, me gonna kick the funky gangsta shit mon,
Me kickin' the funky gangsta.
The gi-gi-da gi-gi-da gangsta,
Gi-gi-da-gi-gi-da-gi-gi-da-gi-gi-da-gi-gi-da-gi-gi-da gangsta
Dja mon, mida me got E-A-Ski in the house mon,
Me got me DJ Xtra Large mon,
We got CMT in the muthafuckin' house,
Dja Mon we got ? check it out!

Me pullin' out me glock mon to settle the ghetto job
Me kickin' the funky reggae kickin' the funky rasta
Many people that I be meeting be calling me killa gangsta then shoot up
Your bitch and kick back and smoke a blunt in the car
Me fuckin' with dank me fuckin' with dank it's S-P-I-see-E 1 me buckin 'em
Down me buckin' 'em down shootin' lead in his lung
Me kickin' the funky gangsta shit to get the bitch sprung, the 187
Faculty bitch so fuck the

Lyrics submitted by SongMeanings

"East Bay Gangster (Reggae)" as written by Robert Lee Green Jr. Mark Ogleton

Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

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East Bay Gangster (Reggae) song meanings
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