Last night I got so high I finally forgot your name It didn't take as long as I had thought But around my head tiny birds did sing with glorious music
like Im ridin on bolbs Hit one switch mayne that ass so low Cali got niggas in New York ridin on hundred spokes Touch me tease me kiss me please me I
inside the grand lux, Most recent was 50 in Angola, that?s what?s up, Any rapper could touched, any bitch could get fucked, Under the California sun,
daylight muthafuck the witnesses Eyes big as golf balls from the funny cigarette As the sun frowns on my forehead I sweat murder which makes me a walking dead
came from Kentucky least ways that's what I've been told Me and fate had left that state before his corpse got cold He'd been killed for gold hhen California
I drove from Palmdale, California to Compton Drunk two 40-ounces, Old English 800, the club ended All the homies left my in the parkin lot toe' back Wasn't nobody out there but me
this world how could it be without me? Now it's all over my tongue and it still has no taste 'Cause without you there is no me There's no me at all
, looks like I'm ridin' on blobs Hit one switch, mayne, that ass so low Cali got niggas in New York ridin' on hundred spokes Touch me, tease me, kiss me, please me
in California La Paloma, La Paloma Left my burden in California La Paloma, La Paloma Left my burden in California La Paloma, La Paloma Left my burden in California
The sun is shinin' We should be makin' hay But we're dead from the waist down Like in California Victory is empty There are lessons in defeat But we'
see California Where pretty people dream Now see that icy vacant lot Where they made your nose bleed The flannel spread, the heater on The world is dead, the sun
t you'd be dead what you've been given doesn't scare me, all your sights and sounds prepare me I could write a song and have the Lord put you and me
' Young Assassin I am growin' up real fast and All I know is flow and rappin' They call me young Roscoe the Philly Fanatic Silly sporadic dippin' in traffic grippin' the matic Sharp as a guillotine still a teen The California sun
pen, on cold Michigan nights and the bitch didn't freeze up on me, when I wanted her to write it I have pimped my pen in the hot California sun and the
mind The star of India's in my hotel room In a briefcase combination, 3, 2, 1, which only I know And I've just seen my mentor, Dr. No California sun
for the phone Now tell me what's the solution, how to get back home? Yo, don't get caught up in glamor and glitz and camera tricks The Land of the Dead
