Другое измерение - Turbo Lax

City of angels, city of stars Well, she shine brightest on that stone boulevard She introduced me to Jackson Brown Convertible rode me all over that town Oh, my LAX She always carried a Polaroid camera She always had that cold act glamour Well, she moved out there to chase her dream To be an actress on that silver screen Oh, my LAX Well, dear seventies ---- Please hold tight to my California honey Make her famous with lots of money And tell her I wish her all the best Oh, my LAX Night trampoline and marijuana I close my eyes and I can smell it on her Bored in a plan back to Tennessee I wonder if she's ever gonna think about me Well, dear palm trees and palm readers Tattoo artist and make believers Please tell her next time you see her That I sure wish her all the best Oh, my LAX Oh, my LAX

Put your lighters up if you want to Pull your motherfucking Dodger cap Over your motherfucking eyes, 'til you can't see shit I want you to go blind nigga So you can feel how I felt, when I was in that motherfucking coma Raised in the City of Angels where it's safe And danger switch lanes so stranger drive slow (drive slow) Where bangers and gangstas, fast women'll bank up Just, part of a face, that we show We got mountains and ocean, we move in slow motion Off that sticky you walk up to go I swear, ain't nothing better there That's why we all take our hats off to you, the one more Come to my hood hood, look at my block block That's that project building, yeah that's where I got shot, shot Cause I was more hood than Suge, had more rocks than Jay More scars on my face than the original "Scarface," or the homeboy Scarface Al Pacino couldn't be no gangsta, DeNiro in "Casino" he no gangsta Wanna be, wanna see, wan' get a shovel Dig Tookie up nigga, cause he know gangstas Niggas think cause they watched "Menace" a couple times Seen Cube in "Boyz N the Hood" and pressed rewind That you could survive when a real Crip Run up on your car and flexed a nine? You must be out of yo' mind, a real Blood'll put you out of yo' mind Just stay the fuck up outta my hood Where my niggas take you up outta yo' shine It ain't a movie dawg, hell yeah this a real fucking Uzi dawg I'm 'bout to hop inside my Impala, try to keep up, don't lose me y'all I know the real O-Dog, and that nigga know the real Game I call him Lorenz Tate, and he ain't never been in no gang But he been in my house house, and he sat on my couch couch While I put one in the air so yeah that nigga know what I'm 'bout, 'bout I'm 'bout my hood, I'm 'bout my block, I'm 'bout my chips So if the rap money stop and I punch a clock Catch you slippin at a light {GET OUT YO' SHIT!} You jack niggas, out-of-towners, and rap niggas And ball players cause we ball player, we chop it up, with them trap niggas We (OutKasts), we (Big Boi's), (Ludacris) with them big toys Where I'm from it's only two things Standing on the corner, me and that liquor store Look what the Bloods did to Weezy, look what the Crips did to Jeezy This gangbangin shit ain't nothing to play with Me and Snoop Dogg just made it look easy Y'all niggas got this L.A. shit real fucked up man Niggas better start respectin what the fuck we about man We take niggas the fuck out, this shit ain't no movie dawg This shit is real - Crips, Bloods, Ese's We hold shit down, this L.A. Word to shit on my face, put a motherfucking star behind it What the fuck I am, Star-face L.A. Chronicles, L.A.X. Files Case closed