Album : Too Gangsta For Radio
Label: Death Row

LYRICS:
(Verse 1)
Me and Keita Rock, off to our spot in the PJ's
Where our niggas hold rocks... and Glocks and AK's
Put our little homies up on game...
Give 'em some change
2 months passed, they move 32 whole thangs
Keys... OG's, set up shop
And let the BG's hold the block
And work the spots
And tote them Glocks
So you might get shot
Them little niggas in the projects be bangin' a lot
Now... don't you know that you was trippin' when you came through?
Tryin' to buy your work and wasn't framed up with no blue?
Got jacked, couldn't react...
Don't get back
Left you naked in the parking lot, holdin' your sack
And that's... just... how the shit go
So don't be fuckin' with them projects on the West Coast
Yeah... you gotta bad bitch, huh?
You wanna roll through the projects get your dick sucked, and get fucked?
But you got fucked in the wrong kind of fuck-in
Wrong color car, niggas saw your car and start bustin'
No questions askin'
Just niggas who be mashin'
In Watts... they got some real cold assassins

(Chorus - Swoop G)
Yeah, Wilmington Arms...
Where my niggas got the straps
Nickerson Gardens...
Where my niggas got the sacks
Jordan Downs...
That's when my niggas kick it at:
In the projects...
In the projects...

Yeah...
I said, Wilmington Arms...
Where my niggas got the gats
Nickerson Gardens...
That's where them niggas got the sacks
Jordan Downs...
That's when my niggas kick it at:
In the projects...
In the projects...

(Verse 2 - Juice & Swoop G)
Pull up to the curb in that fresh, wet tint
Yup, they 100 spokes, ghetto fabulous
Remmy in my cup
Bangin' my own shit
Go and get a cup... what up?
(I ain't seen you in a minute)
On the D-L livin' it up
(Ay, Juice...)
What?
(You know what happened to cup?)
(They caught him paper chasin', he wasn't givin' a fuck)
(You got them sacks on deck?)
Yup, you know it...
20's, 50's, 100's, you know the streets, we run it
I'ma get mine
Everytime
Hold to make a knot
What cha got on the drink?
Headed to the store, across the street from the projects
Gun play... that shit still crack
Some get hit and don't hit back
Front-back, side-to-side
3-wheel motion
We floss the most and it's on
Representing the projects

(Chorus)

(Verse 3 - Keita Rock)
Swoop G, let me put you up on some project shit
In Southern California, niggas call 'em the bricks
Some bang Blood... some bang Crip
I met a bad ass, yellow-bone, project bitch
So you know, like I know
That I'm assed-out to the Pablo's
In the blue Ford
Blue Khaks
Blue Chucks, with the tongue fold
Pablo's ??? from the parkin' lot
A nigga life on the line, for a piece of cock
So I grabbed my 4-5, out the stash spot
Put it to my side, and hang through the parkin' lot
Little niggas like: "Blood, that's Keita Rock...
He fucks with the big home boy Stutter-Box"
So back the fuck up, nigga
You're crowdin' my space
It's the nigga with that L.A. Dodger face
Death Row blew a flame
Piru, 60 gang
And every project that I bang through, respect my name

(Chorus)