Sounds of the Barrio - Stomper

Broadcasting love from the crime lab

It’s Mr. Criminal, Lokote & Stomper, what?

Reminiscing, about growing up in the varrio homie

I remember growing up, it was a real hard task

Got in a fight, you beat em down

If not, then that was your ass

And I’m not, just reminiscing just all off of the past

These days these vatos don’t scrap

These days these vatos they blast

A product of the varrio, with my back against the wall

Pocket full of 8 balls, on the run from juvenile hall

I remember like a splinter in the back of my mind

Getting my hustle on daily, running from the one tim

Grab the pintura homie, let’s start to mobb

Varrio Silvrlake Trece, all the enemigas get crossed

Smoking chronic in a circle, with the Wynos all deep

Baby Huey, Shy Boy, Niño, Oso, Creepy and me

Straight riding Sur siding, pistols all ready

Found another vato hits the calles

Now you hear the fucking siren

In the year ‘98, I was fighting a case

The same year my perro Shy Boy took the bala in the face

Sounds of the varrio

Shhh.

listen, can you hear it?

Walking through the cemetery

Talking to the spirits

In the varrio

Where the homies roll deep

Banging 24 hours a day, 7 days a week

In the varrio

Where the homies pack straps

Vatos collapse for crossing the wrong side of the tracks

In the varrio

Listen up, in the varrio

Taking it back, I was a youngster on the street

A little vato serving heat, in the New Town street

Keeping up much dust, a young gun with a mission

Cooking up big dope, chopping up keys in the kitchen

More bounce to the ounce, as I bounce with a ounce

Watching my pockets get fat, still I’m fucking around

A criminal minded muthafucka, so sick & corrupt

Reminiscing of homies as they get locked up

And as the years went by, yeah I got caught up

But now I’m fresh up out the county

I ain’t giving a fuck

Fuck the world was my attitude, I had no hope

Long nights on the calles, out there slanging my dope

And every time I think of my homies, who passed away

I pay respects to my homies & I visit their grave

Packing a strap, watching my back

Cause there was no peace, I lived a life of a G

From the South East streets, and like that

The haters come out to check my nuts

And end up covered with white sheets & covered with guts

From the slug I deliver, make em shake & shiver

A blood spiller from the Nuevo Gang

A real rat killer

Sounds of the varrio

Shhh.

listen, can you hear it?

Walking through the cemetery

Talking to the spirits

In the varrio

Where the homies roll deep

Banging 24 hours a day, 7 days a week

In the varrio

Where the homies pack straps

Vatos collapse for crossing the wrong side of the tracks

In the varrio

Listen up, in the varrio

In a primer’d muthafucking wagon (that's right)

Going solo causing havoc

Gave a fuck, ready to fucking ride right

With the crazy veteranos and murder on my mind

Knucklehead on the loose

Shotgun (sup puto) ready to shoot

Always hungry to earn some fucking stripes

Flick me off puto, bullets fly

Treinta dos still gang banging

Pinche felon causing havoc

East Side Cuatro Flats is lo que representó

44 hollows son las balas que te meto

Fuck norteños from Arizona (south side)

Big Lokote — Hi Power stomping on ya (leva)

Lowrider show, fuck a snort hoe

Ask anybody in case you don’t know

2 against 1, you bitches couldn’t hang

Stomp your fucking brains

Aquí para Southland

Every day that goes by I get more fucking violent

Catch you fucking slipping

Leave you in eternal silence

Sounds of the varrio

Shhh.

listen, can you hear it?

Walking through the cemetery

Talking to the spirits

In the varrio

Where the homies roll deep

Banging 24 hours a day, 7 days a week

In the varrio

Where the homies pack straps

Vatos collapse for crossing the wrong side of the tracks

In the varrio

Listen up, in the varrio