Текст песни Lakers, Ab-Soul, Freddie Gibbs, Madlib, Polyester The Saint

[Verse 1: Freddie Gibbs]
Nigga, fuck it, 77 Cutlass,
I move my ass to Cali with my Indiana bucket,
I need to slap a wet one on the frame, a little rusty,
They call my shit a scraper, in the Bay bitches love it.
And I'm chokin' on some Cali good,
Been want to cruise on Crenshaw
Since a little nigga watchin' Boyz n the Hood,
Since Ricky got killed coppin' that corn meal,
Before the palm trees, pussy and the recording years.
I was overdue for a visit,
A Valley bitch with family in the Chi gave me the digits,
The 818, the sex was great, perfect the art of fornication,
Put a bitch out the car for a bar, your Cali conversation.
All my hoes from way back want me to be chillin' where they at,
G.I. until I die, but, bitch, L.A. is where I lay at,
My children gon' be raised at where they gon' place my grave at,
Since Magic bought the team, he brought new meaning to that L.A. hat.
Shout out to the blocks,
Inglewood, Compton, South Central to Watts!

[Chorus: Polyester the Saint & Freddie Gibbs]
My home, my home, L.A., I ride for you.
That's where I stay at, nigga!
That's where I lay at, nigga!
When I am gone, just know that I owe you.

[Verse 2: Ab-Soul]
I'm on my way to LAX from JFK, it's a great day,
I mean I love New York, but of course,
I live out there so don't go there, you heard it before.
Ironic my uncle had the King of Music on Crenshaw,
‘Cause now I'm the king to music to all y'all.
California love, California dreaming,
I've seen lost angels, I even found demons,
Where you learn to survive and keep your head high,
Hit the weed clinic for sativa get your head high.
We ain't in Kansas City, but you'll find a TEC-9,
And if that TEC jammed, you better have a toast, too.
Fuck that, this what we gon' toast to
Everybody that ain't die before 21 like we was sposed to.
For the mail, I'm goin' postal,
I heard the baddest females on pacific coastal,
If it means anything, I'm so L.A., my dad died on King, nigga!

[Chorus: Polyester the Saint & Freddie Gibbs]
My home, my home, L.A., I ride for you.
That's where I stay at, nigga!
That's where I lay at, nigga!
When I am gone, just know that I owe you.

[Verse 3: Freddie Gibbs]
Yeah, went from a condo to sleepin' on my nigga couch,
Poppin' sedatives, negatives in my bank account,
Too much pride to let this pussy industry play me out,
Repairin' that broken dream, that's what L.A. about.
Shout to Cali Bud, my Westcoast plug,
Brother from another mother, he showed that Westcoast love.
Nigga, me and Killa Caz was pullin' them stick-ups, cuz,
Bendin' blocks with my nigga Box, smokin' the whip up, blud.
Gots to keep it true when I maneuver,
I got all kind of homies, Harlems, Avalons and Hoovers,
My little homie from Families, he keep a team of shooters,
My 60 niggas stay Rolling, my Eight Trey niggas movin'.
Been 20 years since the riots,
L.A. niggas keep it thorough, fuck keepin' quiet!
Bitch, it's on in this war zone where we reside,
As I begin let my sins wash away with the tide.
Who the fuck I'm kiddin'? I done tried everything but dying,
Flirtin' with other places, but this Cali bitch stay on my mind.

[Chorus: Polyester the Saint & Freddie Gibbs]
My home, my home, L.A., I ride for you.
That's where I stay at, nigga!
That's where I lay at, nigga!
When I am gone, just know that I owe you.