Creepin' - Brownside, Wicked

Kicking it, strap on my side and I’m so high

Thinking bout them putos that tried to do the drive-by

Creeping in the alley, ese this ain’t the valley

Cholos are deep in a fucking brown Caddie

Drop to the floor, a fucking four door

(There's some putos we jump)

Ese, they’re coming for more pedo

Watch real close as I level

His head to the seat, my cuete he hands me

Six feet deep is where this culo stays

Although in a coma for a couple of days, anyways

That’s what I see on 2−1 Street, where we meet in the big SC

South Central is lo que represento

The crazy ass Eastside is in your fucking mental

Lento, but harder than a motherfucker

Catch me on a bad day knocking out a clucker

Creepin' through my neighborhood

Cuete on my side, always up to no good

On the Eastside, where the balas fly

Home of true gangsters ese, I don’t lie

Now all you cholos know we gotta handle our streets

Always keeping trucha cuz the black and whites creep

All gotta pay dues, think it’s time to take a cruise

Pensando in my head, fuck them fools

They throw a rat on the fucking murder rap

Now it’s time for us to go on back

Simon, we’re the ones you putos can not stand

I’m coming to get you with a cuete in my hand

Damn there he goes, stop, I go, I caught his ass quick

Nada me duro puro, blu blu to his stomach I stuck

Two balas at first then one on top for luck

Fuck I gotta go, this puto needs no more

To make our escape we just drove away slow

We gotta handle ours, leaving scars

Q-Vo to the homies behind bars

As I light and hit the sherm stick

I sit back and think of doing crazy shit

So we roll, and it’s late at night

Got my little homie Sharp, and Wicked by my side

Rolling in the G-ride, headed out the East Side

Ahora en la noche some pendejo dies

Simon, it’s all a gang trip

If you’re in it and you know it say «you better not slip»

Crazy cholos don’t give a fuck

Simon, fuck the juras, my dick they can suck

Straight gang banging till the day I die

Senor Wes I’m innocent, I don’t lie

Big pantalones, creased down, t-shirts

Hitting it with the homies always putting in work

Sur, X-Tres is where the fuck I roam

Los Ángeles (East Side) is where I call my home

Enemigas try and fade, when we show up they run away

I guess they seen us coming with our guns ready to spray

You look like a bitch when you run from us

I know you know we got guns that bust

Plus you know I’ll peel your fucking cap

Didn’t catch you yesterday but I’ma get you off the map

So strap, cause they only way you’re lasting if you’re fucking blasting

Never recognize me cause I’m always masking on a mission

All the santos missing, then they shoot this fool and then start dissing

Display my motherfucking gangster’s way

Spit on his ass, chinga tu madre guey

Just like that, making putos disappear

Ya que, at least I’m still here

No fear, those huevotes and my Mexican Pride

Jump in the lowrider and cruise through my East Side