We're far from good not good from far

Ninety miles per hour down Compton Boulevard

With the top down screaming we don't give a f**k

Drink my forty ounce of freedom while I roll my blunt

Cause the kids just ain't alright

Oh sh*t ni**a something bout to happen

Ni**a this sh*t ni**a this sound like thirty ki's under the Compton court building

Hope the dogs don't smell it

Welcome to vigilante eighties so don't you ask me

I'm hungry my body's antsy I rip through your f**king pantry

Peeling off like a Xanny examine my orchestra

Granny said when I'm old enough I'll be sure to be all I can be

You niggas Marcus Camby washed up

P**sy fix your panties I'm Mr Marcus you getting f**ked uh

You ain't heard nothing harder since Daddy Kane

Take it in vain Vicodins couldn't ease the pain

Lightning bolts hit your body you thought it rained

Not a cloud in sight just the sh*t that I write

Strong enough to stand in front of a traveling freight train

Are you trained to go against Dracula

Dragging the record industry by my fangs

AK clips money clips and gold chains

You walk around with a P-90 like it's the 90s

Bullet to your temple you're homicidal remind me that

Compton Crip niggas ain't nothing to f**k with

Bompton Pirus ain't nothing to f**k with

Compton eses ain't nothing to f**k with

But they f**k with me and b**ch I love it

Woop-de-woop woop-de-woop-woop woop-de-woop

Woop-de-woop woop-de-woop-woop (California dungeons)

Woop-de-woop woop-de-woop-woop woop-de-woop

Woop-de-woop woop-de-woop-woop (California dungeons)

Let's hit the county building gotta cash my check

Spend it all on a forty-ounce to the neck

And in retrospect I remember December being the hottest

Squad cars neighborhood wars and stolen Mazdas

I tell you motherf**kers that life is full of hydraulics

Up and down get a six-four better know how to drive it

I'm driving on E with no license or registration

Heart racing racing past Johnny because he's racist

1987 the children on Ronald Reagan

Raked the leaves off your front porch with a machine blowtorch

(I'm really out here ni**a) You blowing on stress hoping to ease the stress

(Like really out here) He copping some blow hoping that he can stretch

Newborn massacre hopping out the passenger

With calendars cause your day coming

Run him down and then he gun him down I'm hoping that you fast enough

Even the legs of Michael Johnson don't mean nothing because

Compton Crip niggas ain't nothing to f**k with

Bompton Pirus ain't nothing to f**k with

Compton eses ain't nothing to f**k with

But they f**k with me and b**ch I love it

Woop-de-woop woop-de-woop-woop woop-de-woop

Woop-de-woop woop-de-woop-woop (California dungeons)

Woop-de-woop woop-de-woop-woop woop-de-woop

Woop-de-woop woop-de-woop-woop (California dungeons)

Can't detour when you at war with your city why run for it

Just ride with me just die with me that gun store right there

When you fight don't fight fair cause you'll never win

(Right I had the chopper and I tore they a** up)

Can't detour when you at war with your city why run for it

Just ride with me just die with me that gun store right there

When you fight don't fight fair cause you'll never win yeah yeah yeah

Whoa whoa whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa

Whoa whoa whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa

Whoa whoa whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa

Whoa whoa whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa

We really out here my ni**a you niggas don't understand my ni**a

I'm off of pill and Remy Red my ni**a tripping my ni**a