Lyrics

[Intro: Dave Free and Jay Rock] Ay, ay, Rock, don't you got a MySpace page, nigga? Yeah I thought so Isn't it like JayRock@MySpace.com? Yuh Yeah, I thought so, okay Jay Rock, yuh, [?], Top Dawg [?] Why I not in your top eight, nigga? Jay Rock, [?] Watt City, jiggy, go [?] like this, [?] Yuj [Verse 1: Jay Rock] Cruisin' down Central, high off indo Smashin' down Imperial, three-wheelin' a vehicle '66 Chevy, carry somethin' heavy That'll turn a bitch-ass nigga to a veggie Watts is the city, raised on a rough street Where them fiends high on crack like a wedgie Killer, killer Cali where them Bloods and them Crips meet North and south SAs bustin' 'til your shit leaks Like Snoop said, "It ain't nothin' but a G thing" so I rock white tees, Jays with the red strings Needed cash, so I turned in the fast lane In the spot with the cocaine, that's where some cash came Still the same dawg runnin' with the ruthless Disrespect the section, check you're toothless Got Eazy-E bumpin' through my speakers, be 'Pac in my changer, slug in the chamber Runnin' through red lights, Rock can't sit tight at a light, nah, dawg, that's how you lose your life Watt City G, not an amateur If nobody ridin' shotgun my gat is the passenger [Bridge: Jay Rock] Yuh, yuh, Jay Rock, real Watt City G Yuh, yuh, I hang around Watt City Gs [Verse 2: Jay Rock] "Buck, buck, buck," from my .357 magnum That's what it sounds like if I have to blast something So I hope I don't have to because the aftermath cleaning tissues and black suits So think about it Never drinkin' and drivin', man, I'm drivin' and drinkin' ("That's a DUI, Rock!") Man, I ain't worried 'bout it 'Cause I'm ridin' with no tags and plus I'm ridin' dirty with a pack of good dope and four gats Pump in the trunk, got a gat in the glovebox One under the seat, keep one in my briefs Yeah, my day one bitch got one in her weave No hesitation, she'll put a slug through your meat Look, ridin' through these ghetto streets, movin' with the metal beat When the guns go off it sounds like a melody Call it ghetto music, out here in Los Angeles we used to it Dawg, we hear it every day Yeah, it sounds like a symphony Killers don't have no remedy, nigga, when they huntin' down they enemy Now the target, face on a white tee Now you can find the shirt on sale at a swap meet Man, I hang around motherfuckin' Gs In the end, Gs when they throwin' up the "B" On the other side of the track they throwin' up the "C" We all in the same gang: Watt City Gs (Gs, Gs)