Hard Times

Born in the hood, I'm a O.G. gangsta

My Poppa Was A Rolling Stone, rock-n-roll gangsta

There's a war on the streets

Like the war in Iraq

Viva la raza, bring our gente back

Hard time on the front line, A.K.'s and tech nines

Soldiers comin' home

Half dead and half blind

Diein' for what?

I'm a drug cause

Six hundred and seventy, 'round soldiers lost

That's some bullshit

Like the war on the streets

Young ones diein' over some twenty year old beef

Cholo shot back, hood's still up to no good

Now he's doing 25 up in the real hood

Life in the pen

With no real friends

Just shut the fuck up and cough for the men

Raza, wake up

It's my job

Slow Pain, the O.G., with the homie Lil Rob

Man, I know this vato talkin' this and that

About where he from, and about where he's at

How gangster he is, and how he's bustin' cap

You need to kick back, homie, just relax

And take a chill pill, for real, pull down the steel

And put ya fists up, when it's time to get, I'll

The grill from the chest, mano a mano

Somos Chicanos

Somos hermanos

What up, loco, it's the real O.G.

Lil Rob got my back, when I'm ballin' in the S.D.

Packin' a chrome

I'm a sign like a cellphone

Loc'ed After Dark like the homie Tone Loc

Bang

Bang

And I burn rubber

Trey sit back to a stolen Hummer

When I'm dippin' out

In my brown Impala

The brown super hero, hold it down for the raza

Yeah

Yeah

To all the soldiers livin' hard times

My heart goes out

That's why I write lines

From the cora, hun

We speak ahora

And drop those gangsta hits we call rolas

This is for the homies and for the cholas

You know Mexicanos got the chrome pistolas

It's all about the green

The white

The red

This Mexicano sets the west coast trend

Hey, what's happenin', man

It's ya homeboy Ese Lil Rob

That's right

Thanks for pickin' up the Mextape

Twelve Eighteen Uncut

For the streets

For the Calles

That's right

Put it down for the brown side of town

That's right

I say what's up to everybody out there, doin' they thang