paroles de chanson Sounds of the Barrio - Mr. Criminal , Big Lokote , Stomper

Yeah
Broadcasting live from the crime lab
It's Mr. Criminal, Locote, and Stomper, what
Reminiscing 'bout growing up in this motherfucking trap
'Bout growing up in the varrio, homie
Haha

I remember growing up, it was a real hard task
Got in a fight, you beat him down, if not, then that was your ass
And I'm not just reminiscing just all off of the past
These days, these vatos don't scrap
These days, these vatos, they blast
A product of the varrio with my back against the wall
Pocket full of eight-balls, on the run from juvenile hall
I remember like a splinter in the back of my mind
Getting my hustle on daily, running from the one-time
Grab the bean, threw it to homie, let's start to mob
Vatos double el trece, all the enemigas get crossed
Smoking chronic in a circle with the winos off D
Baby Huey, Shabba, Nino, oh so creepy and mean
Straight riding, suiciding, pistols already firing
Another vato hits the calles, now you hear the fucking sirens
In the year '98, I was fighting a case
The same year my perro Chavo took a balla in the face

Down to the varrio
Shh, listen, can you hear it?
Walking through the cemetery, talking to the spirits
In the varrio, where the homies roll deep
Banging 24 hours a day, seven days a week
In the varrio, where the homies pack straps
Vatos collapse for crossing the wrong side of the tracks
In the varrio
Shh, listen up, in the varrio

Taking it back, I was a youngster on the street
A little vato serving heat in the Newtown Street
Kicking up much dust, a young gun with a mission
Cooking up big dope, chopping up ki's in the kitchen
More bounce to the ounce as I bounce with an ounce
Watching my pockets get fat, still out bucking around
A criminal-minded motherfucker, so sick and corrupt
Reminiscing on my homies as they get locked up
And as the years went by, yeah, I got caught up
But now I'm fresh up out the county, I ain't giving a fuck
"Fuck the world" was my attitude, I had no hope
Long nights on the calles, out there slanging my dope
And every time I think of my homies who passed away
I pay respects to my homies, then I visit the grave
Packing a strap, watching my back 'cause there was no peace
I lived the life of a G from the Southeast streets
And like that, the haters come out to check my nuts
And end up covered with white sheets and covered with guts
From the slug I deliver, make 'em shake and he shiver
A blood spiller from Nuevo, gang of real rap killers

Down to the varrio
Shh, listen, can you hear it?
Walking through the cemetery, talking to the spirits
In the varrio, where the homies roll deep
Banging 24 hours a day, seven days a week
In the varrio, where the homies pack straps
Vatos collapse for crossing the wrong side of the tracks
In the varrio
Shh, listen up, in the varrio

In the primer motherfucking wagon (That's right)
Rollin' solo, causing havoc
Give a fuck, ready to fucking ride
Right with the crazy veteranos and murder on my mind (Hahaha)
Knucklehead on the loose
Shotgun (What's up, puto?) ready to shoot
Always hungry to earn some fucking stripes
Flick me off, puto, bullets fly (Eso)
Pendejos, still gangbangin'
Pinche felon causing havoc
Eastside Guato Flats es lo que represento
.44 Hollows son las balas que te meto
Fuck nortenos from Arizona (Southside)
Big Locote, High Power stomping on ya (Que levas, homie?)
Lowride'll show, fuck a snort hole
Ask anybody in case you don't know (Haha)
Two against one, you bitches couldn't handle it (That's right)
Stomp your fucking brains like you bought a Southland (High Power)
Every day that creep by, I get more fucking violent
Catch you fucking slipping, leave you in eternal silence

Down to the varrio
Shh, listen, can you hear it?
Walking through the cemetery, talking to the spirits
In the varrio, where the homies roll deep
Banging 24 hours a day, seven days a week
In the varrio, where the homies pack straps
Vatos collapse for crossing the wrong side of the tracks
In the varrio
Shh, listen up, in the varrio