Family Thing (feat. Evilside G’z - South Central Cartel

N***a
Who a real rider is
My family fool
That's right
Puts it down on any hood or clique
That's real trick
It's the young mackola slangin crack to stackola
The chip motorola holds the 44 to blow ya
Dohja smoke ignites the fire like lighters
The drop 64's catch the h*es on sighta
Let's take a trip to where the homies puts it down
And say I never come around
But I'm in traffic tryna make a proper come up
Livin in this hell hole makes me wanna blow my dome up
My baby mama is more righteous than they come
The hood's on my back the child support don't help me none
So now I'm on a mission n***as in my rear view
D**n it's the homie what the f**k them n***as up to
I bust a U and still the homies on my backside
I grab the 44 hit the petrol in a G-O metro
And d**n I still got payments on this muthaf**ka
I lost all the hub caps and the homies I don't trust 'em
Well Young Prod if these n***as start trippin
And Twin I got your back too if it's mo' than two
And if it's mo' than three they gotta f**k with me
And that's how it's gon swing with this family thang
Y'all n***as kill me feel me down when you up around
Clown me down me when your a*s not up around me
Now tell me G who's the f**kin playa hata
Mad 'cause I put my family up on some paper
My homie Joe gave me the 'fo on your b***h-a*s
Hey troop I got your back loc so won't you put the smash
Down clowns like you I call haters
Mad 'cause you jock us but still can't fade us
It's young trip on a creep as I tips down man
They got nothin to lose but 50 G's to gain
If I maintain a low profile like a Pirelli
'Cause n***as be schemin like evil side and wicked dreamin
Night after night be havin a n***a straight plottin
Like Oliver Stone out to get a grip of his own
And it's on and ain't no fakin n***as out for the takin
But if they come at me wrong Rata-tat-tat ain't no get bacc
Now from the gate I gots to skate block to block when I'm swervin
Puffin up on that herb and still down for curb servin
Cutlass on deck n***as trip I'm a winner
Khakis and Chuck T's gold D's as I bend the
N***a's block batteries hot lockin a 40
Gold Rhimeson packin heat and it's on
N***as playa hatin 'cause I stack the chip dippin in a C-low
Puttin my bang down with my kinfolks
I see them half-a*s h*es so d**n down I used to figure
But now I'm hearin s**t it makes me wanna pull a trigger
N***a I put you down when you had nathin
N***a but now I'm hearin 'bout your playa hatin
Rollin in my low-low '64 loc with my kinfolks
Fake-a*s locs they get smoked tho'
We still deep we be tight like Vice Grips
Collectin chips dumpin clips on n***as who set trip
BiAtch
Westside and Eastside
Takin your a*s on a gangsta ride
So peep this s**t out n***a
It's the in-a-cut-gang baby baby
And it's the South Central Cartel baby
And it's the Young Prod thang baby baby
And all them n***as can't fade me
I'm crazy
Yeah we be puttin it down for the 199-muthaf**kin-6
You know what I'm sayin