Testo Geto Highlites - Coolio
Testo della canzone Geto Highlites (Coolio), tratta dall'album Gangsta's Paradise
What you gonna play now?
Get on up, get on up, get on up, get on up
Every getto got a different name, but they all the same
So Coolio loco gonna put you up on game
We got homies who sell straps, homies who sell crack
Homies who sell the bomb chronic sacks that's a fact
'Cause you from the neighborhood, niggas love
Pimps, players, suckers, hoes, forty thieves, ganstas and thugs
To unwrap the strap and then who knows what
The loudmouth one loced up in front of the ice cream truck
And broke all of the minis where the big G's live
The little homie be gettin' out on account
This time he might get stuck attempted
One eight seven and he's a minor with pride
So the D.A wants him tried as an adult
The big homey just had a son, no joking
I think his baby's mom is smoking 'cause she always broke
And the young girls is dressing more and more sleazy
And everybody and their momma talking 'bout O.J. defense
To the hoochies in the Hondas and Sentras
Young niggas fightin' their case with public defenders
Be your own good ride, right, right
These are the geto highlites
To the n- nwho smokin' indo chocolate, tired of stress
N-, who got warrants out for their arrest
Be your own good ride, right, right
These are the geto highlites
Slap boxin' with all the young hoochies watchin'
Dead cats in the street playing craps
N-, catchin' dice with they feet
Think they got the funk, that one fool got stoked out
'Cause he's a mark with a gun
The nosy bitch up the street called 911, now
One time his D jacked a nigga and old bitch
Liscence and registration, "All I got is a drivers permit"
N-, can't have sh-
We got dogs that rip but don't even trip, welcome to Southern California
Liquor stores and churches on every other corner
Your little brother plays Pop Warner
Darks raided the dope spot
Eight year old kid got shot 'cause they mistook his B.B gun for a glok
And I ain't forgot about the homey, Lano
He got killed by a sucker way back in the eighties, oh
I heard the homies, mighties is ballin' out of state
He got himself off unemployment checks in Section 8
Hey the homiez kickin' it real, yeh, I hear what he's sayin' loc
Sometimes it's just like that in the hood
Yeh, don't nothin' change of the game but the name
That's right, you know that's right
To the young hustlers that's trying to stack that knot up
The house parties that's gonna always get shot up
Be your own good ride, right, right
These are the geto highlites
To the negros, real to stop the violence
All the niggers who loced up during the L.A. riots
Be your own good ride, right, right
These are the getto highlites
The nigger with all sixteen switches sitting ODs
Who got jacked, he tried to pull out his gat
Pulling sex in through his back
Now his momma, ain't all black
And niggas is going to the barber to get a fade
They carried their dead homey to his grave
Pour out a little liquor
Homegirl, down the street with the green eyes
And big titties is getting thicker
Neighborhood clubs beat him up
And crackheads be selling TV's and VCR's
For forty bucks, so what's up
Yesterday the homey committed a bank caper
Saw the chase on the news and read the story in today's paper
His little girl's just now taking training wheels off her bike
While her daddy's got twenty-five to life at Fort Strike
The little homey just tripped and stripped
Because he didn't realize that the joint was dipped, that's right
O.G's joining the nation and it's all good
Big G's is retaliating 'cause they enemies are crossed out the hood
Crackhead momma's smoking whole accounting checks
Dopedealers who serve liquor, pieces for sex
Be your own good ride, right, right
These are the geto highlites
Young niggas going to school to be a doctor
Late night sounds of gunshots and helicopters
Be your own good ride, right, right
These are the geto highlites
To all the motherfuckers who think their shit don't stank
Rollin OD's and then appear for robbing banks
Be your own good ride, right, right
These are the geto highlites
This is just a little something for my nigga
That's still gonna be a nigga if he don't get no bigger
Be your own good ride, right, right
These are the geto highlites
Get on up, get on up, get on up, get on up
Get on up, get on up, get on up, get on up
Credits
Writer(s): Rudolph Isley, Ernie Isley, Marvin Isley, O'kelly Isley, Ronald Isley, John Austin, Artis L Jr Ivey
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