[Hook]
Dead men tell no stories, liars can’t live in the street
Whatever plans God has for me, I’ll cooperate instead of compete
We coming for ‘em, nigga (Yeah!)
Ain’t no looking back (Yeah)
Forward motion, nigga
Just remember that
We gon' get 'em, get 'em, we gon' hit 'em, hit 'em (No... no... no)
We gon' get 'em, get 'em, we gon' hit 'em, hit 'em
[Verse 1: Evidence]
(It’s that C.A. all day...)
Evidence, Taylor Made, it’s custom
I heard if they smile too much–don’t trust ‘em
I heard the phone’s no place for discussion
Just heard a click, either I’m bugged or bugging (Look out!)
Some call it living in fear
Believe most of what you see, some of what you hear
Don’t believe in ghosts?
The Lost Angel’s here
Don’t think your friends will set you up?
It’s your year – it’s going down
And when it does, shed no tears
Sleep with both eyes open, and one of my ears
Ready, always scoping one of my peers
I can sense the fake energy behind your cheers
I can slow the flow down, just to make it clear
Shift my gears, my enemies close in line
If you can’t trust your crew, how you supposed to climb?
I guess keep your guard up, they fade out in due time
[Hook]
Dead men tell no stories, liars can’t live in the street
Whatever plans God has for me, I’ll cooperate instead of compete
We coming for ‘em, nigga (Yeah!)
Ain’t no looking back (Yeah)
Forward motion, nigga
Just remember that
We gon' get 'em, get 'em, we gon' hit 'em, hit 'em (No... no... no)
We gon' get 'em, get 'em, we gon' hit 'em, hit 'em
[Verse 2: Mitchy Slick]
Why when a nigga from the West wear Dickies, it’s hoo bangin'
But when out-of-towners do it, it’s a fashion statement? (Fuck that!)
Why most DJs out here say they support the West,
Bump us on Hump Day, but chump us out the rest?
How to blow under those conditions?
I’m only known where the project chicks is living
Where the '96 Caprice's on the spinners is driven
When Slick spitting, better know the hitmen is listening
That’s who I kick it for – not the radio
My niggas is stuck in California Level Fours
To use Hip-Hop to motivate in other days
With the urban survival, even if it causes decay
Stretching yay, having to put a bitch they kinda like, out on the blade
Steady Gang feel the killers' and the dealers' pain
Some of us still got hard flame for slang
[Hook]
Dead men tell no stories, liars can’t live in the street
Whatever plans God has for me, I’ll cooperate instead of compete
We coming for ‘em, nigga (Yeah!)
Ain’t no looking back (Yeah)
Forward motion, nigga
Just remember that
We gon' get 'em, get 'em, we gon' hit 'em, hit 'em (No... no... no)
We gon' get 'em, get 'em, we gon' hit 'em, hit 'em
[Verse 3: Rakaa Iriscience]
(We gon’ get ‘em...)
Watch you colors, homie, watch your slang
Watch how you make your fingers twist and change
A lot of brothers out here still ain't playing
A lot of blocks out here still gang bang
Dilated wrong kind, S.D. to L.A.,
To the Bay, gotta say 'Rest in Peace' to Mac Dre (R.I.P!)
'Boyz N The Hood' shit, 'Menace II Society' flow
Now the beats bang like "Colors" on your radio
Crazy since the '80s, now Kobe’s dropping 81
On these rap tours, nightclubs to the stadium
Sick Angelino squad, savage ammunition strike
Strong Arm Steady Gang, sedatives and stimuli
Back with a bong – man, we just killed a quarter
I’m a DJ advocate, toasting firewater
With Krondon and Phil Da Agony chopping up the orders
Moving big work with Mitchy Slick, down by the border
[Outro: Mitchy Slick]
Yeah... nigga, Strong Arm Steady, nigga
Yeah, West Coast is cracking, don’t get it fucked up
And Dilated, don’t get them fucked up neither, yeah dat
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