Lyrics:

MC Ren and Time Bomb:
Yeah nigga, MC Ren up in this motherfucker
(West West y'all)
Yeah, LA niggas
LA niggas rule the world nigga
Y'all niggas gotta recognize, you know what I'm sayin'?
Niggas don't wanna peep game, you know what I'm sayin'?
But this shit come all the way back around here
My nigga Dre, droppin' heat box on y'all bitch-ass
You know what I'm sayin'? You gotta recognize
LA niggas, connected all over the motherfucking world, nigga
Recognize this, peep game

Time Bomb:
Now in my younger days I used to sport a rag
Backpack full of cans plus a four-four mag
G'd up from the feet up
Blue'd up from the shoe up's how I grew up
Loc'n, smokin' and drinkin' till we threw up (Till we threw up)
At Leimert Park, taggin', hittin' fools up
Ditching my class, just to fuck yo' school up
You don't wanna blast, nigga tuck yo' tool up
But don't sleep, y'all niggas quick to shoot you
Now there's another motherfucker with no future
But Time Bomb much smoother when I maneuver, dope like Cuba
Got 'em jumpin' Disciples to the Hoover

King T:
I'm coming straight outta Compton with a loose cannon
Smoke big green, call it Bruce Banner
Watch your manners, at last another blast from the top notch
From way back with the pop rocks, I pop lock witcha
Picture this, Dr. Dre twisting with Tha Liks and Hittman bought a fix
Don't trip, it's a Time Bomb in this bitch, hear it tick, tick, tick, tick
Wait a minute it's on, I tell it like a true mackadelic
Weed and cocaine sold separate, check it
From sundown to sun-up, clown and run up
The Aftermath'll be two in your gut, nigga what?

Knoc-Turn'al and Kokane:
We roll deep, smoke on weed, drink, and pack heat
Requirements for survival each day in LA
It don't stop, we still mash in hot pursuit from the cops
Analyze why we act this way in LA

Hittman:
Gimme that mic fool, it's a West coast jack move
They call me Hitt 'cause I spit like gats do, cock me back
Bust caps for my Macz Crew at Fairfax
Who used to wear Air Max shoes, that's true
But I grew up where niggas jack you, harass you
Blast you for that set you claim (Where you from?)
Mash on you for your Turkish chain, CK BK
Blue'd up or flame, I ran with a gang
I helped niggas get, jacked for they Dana Dane's
My pants hang below my waistline
I look humble wanna rumble? (Yeah yeah)
I bang though, like Vince Carter from the baseline, don't waste my time
Fuck a scrap in killa Cali, AK's and nine's
One-time's, sun-shines, and fine-ass bitches
Hawaiian Thai, drive-bys, six-fo's on switches

Xzibit:
I was raised in the hood called What-the-Diff'
Where the brothers in the hood, refused to go Hollywood
Slugs for the fuck of it
Anybody hatin' on us can suck a dick
If I catch you touching mine you catch a flatline, dead on the floor
Better than yours, driving away gettin' head from a whore
It's AvireX-to-the-Z
Fuckin' with me might get you banned from TV
Cassette and CD it's all mine the whole nine the right time
Multiply, we don't die, the streets don't lie
What, so neither do I, I'm bad for your health
Like puttin' a pistol up to your face and blastin' yourself

Defari:
Five in the mornin', burglars at my do'
Glock forty-five in my dresser drawer
Let 'em come in, blaow, he see the thunder roll
Roll with niggas, who buy fifths by the fo'
And brew's by the case
Slap you in the face with the bass, Dr. Dre laced
Likwit Kings with Sedans and gold rings
Haters fold the style, but can't find no openings

Knoc-Turn'al and Kokane:
We roll deep, smoke on weed, drink, and pack heat
Requirements for survival each day in LA
It don't stop, we still mash in hot pursuit from the cops
Analyze why we act this way in LA

That's how we ride
That's how we ride
That's how we ride
That's how we ride