Yeah, Mr. Criminal homie,
the fuck you think I'm supposed to be?
Click, click, bang, it's just the J -Thang,
the streets vang,
what the fuck I represent homie?
Yeah
Let these motherfuckers
know
Prime lab pro duction
Produced by Mr. Criminal
Yeah, hittin' levels like where the fuck you from,
break him off with that 31 drum
Hit him up with that hollow tip
and leave his lower body numb
Hit him with a thump off the .57,
a Tommy gun
Been shot at so many times,
see hidden bullets buzzing, huh?
Father forgive him,
he just ain't trying to become a victim
That ghetto living,
they leaving incisions all in children
No high school for middle school,
it's straight to prison
He had to learn the hard way,
so now he's dripping
This rap shit, it be my ghetto alibi
Thank God, pray get to the sky,
because I almost died
At an early age, before I turned the page
I used to let off a rage,
in the streets of Bain
Believe me, you don't wanna
be caught slippin'
when I'm drippin'
My homies racin' with mental sickness
and that's the difference
Had only 12,
it's the first time I stuck em'
Broke em' off with number two pencils,
that's it, fuck em'
Now you know the homies give a fuck,
runnin' the streets and
kickin' the dust
Make the type of music
for the little homies runnin' the mud
And fuck those motherfuckers
that doubted us
Like Donald Trump's bitch ass
run up in the crowd and bust
Lord forgive us
cause we stuck in these getaways
We put in work and the night
through these ghetto days
Feelin' like I'm stuck in a ghetto maze
No longer my reality
but can't forget those days
Cold peanut butter out the fuckin' trash
Rotten milk all in my fuckin' glass
What was that white powder
in those little bags?
Why the cops kickin' my door
and they on my ass?
Camino de criminales,
all up in my bloodline
Way before the United States,
before the sunshine
Before the motherfuckin' chases
by the one time
Twelve or thirteen years old,
what the fuck they do in bus nines?
Not no youngsters on the playground
Older homies used to teach
these little homies stay down
You see that two -story pad,
run up all in it
If there was money, I would go get it
Spanky was my crimey,
memo was my co -defendant
The little homie Joker
said he down for life and meant it
Just got out from 16 years in the bed
His baby mama shied out,
God bless his kid
The homie Weasel, rest in peace,
took you to the weed
Killed the homie Diablo
behind the store for shit he did
The street life brings too much karma
Too much drama
like some motherfuckin' baby mamas
I had to block him,
sinner hit me from Santanella,
I had to stop him
That ain't my homie,
that's just a crash dump
Levels all lookin' bummy
while I stack this cash money
And you can run and fuckin' tell him that
Still with this L .A. Kings on my fuckin' hat
So what the fuck you think I'm
supposed to be?
The king of this gangsta rap shit,
don't get close to me
And if I wanna start my own clique,
run this whole shit
Make you motherfuckers exit the zip
Big West, S .L.
Little homies on mission
Send the trash out,
it's the time to wash all the dishes
And fuck these levers
I'll
see the
Thank you
Mr. Criminal 
