[Takbir]
Yo
I ain't got no cash, no money, no funds, no dividends
How come all these people got so much money to spend?
While I'm cruisin' inside of my broken down Honda Accord
Wishin' I had a dollar bill to throw up in the tank
But obviously ridin' on 'E's' a deadly thing
So I stepped to Willie Big, lookin' for pocket change
He pulled out some champagne, so happy to celebrate
I was like, "Nah, man, I need chips, let's get it straight"
So right before I jetted he slapped me a couple of bucks
I knew where I was headed, for gasoline that's unleaded
Would the derelict regret it or is that the way they thought though?
I don't know, I'm cheap so I slid up into the ARCO
Two dollars and fifty-six cents on twenty-three
Exit off of Winnetka to enter Canoga P
Now everybody be bumpin' and whippin' the steering wheel
To something that's undiscovered but quickly to be revealed
And we rockin', beats that's knockin', yea
Ryu and Tak and, turn on the radio, the Wake Up Show, what
Ninety-two, uh, we hype when we . . . true
Yo, we are, from a, what, Style of Beyond and
We, would, like, to rock, for you and you
(VOICE:)
Rockin' our radio station here, in the San Fernando Valley
(S-O-B), at least thirty fatalities, rockin' our, San Fernando Valley
RYU:
Sippin' half a cup of decaf, coffee with milk
Overlookin' the Valley smog like I'm walkin' on stilts
In the basement of the Los Angeles basin waging war
The weapons are chasin' full scale invasions, hit the floor
When the Saticoy and Roscoe block proximity mines
Explode into a rhyme and alphanumeric time code
Now let me flip back into fly mode (chill)
Dollar dollar bill, more like ninety-nine cents
For Schlitz malt liquor forty-ounce over the hill
Kickin freestyles, stumblin' words have you wonderin'
I'll rock your mic, steal your spotlight, and tan under it
Van Nuys, Canoga, Northridge, Reseda renegade
Center-stage steppin' with the missile engaged
It's simple and plain, take away the gangs and all that mess
What's left is hip-hop at it's best
But in the West it's the S-O-B
Eight-One-Eight, yes that be, from out the derelict barracks
Redefining the MC
(HOOK x 2)
Let the phonograph spin (let it spin, let it spin)
Where it stops, nobody knows (nobody knows)
The code, but if it flows (let it flow) let it flow
If it does, then it won't stop, hah
TAKBIR:
Ayo, Vin Skully comin' with the sick type juice
Headphones, adjust the mic, let loose
Wicked patterns of flowin' when I'm zonin' (zonin')
Move into a soothin' poetic lunatic frenzy
Ricocheting inside a studio with the session
Me and Ryu, a combination in the umber pure impression
So while they're lookin' screwface, Skully is on the Cubase
And all their after-talk gets packed in a little suitcase
(*Laughter*) what you expected?
One-oh-One Ventura, Eight-Eighteen, Winnetka Exit
RYU:
Within The Golden State line, where fake guys get bit by the snake eyes
Spittin' venomous, sudden death with surprise
By malicious Skully tracks crushin' all production wishes
Underground aquatics swimming with exotic fishes
We raisin' up the flag without a question or discussion
So take Winnetka Exit for some fine-tuning adjustment
Cause just when you thought that everything was thorough
We came back to represent the Los Angeles borough
(HOOK x 2)
