My Chevy

I roll a '73 Chevy Caprice

Straight stocked out hubcaps and elites

A four-door mob shot, that's what I got

Burn a little rubber on a punk ass sahob

A fat ass fleet that's pumpin' the beat

A Zapco board to make things complete

I ride and side, whip and dip

Spotted in the seat with a joint on my lip

Ready to take the cops on a high-speed chase

Put up your pink slip ‘cause I'm ready to race

Man, I'm so tight, I just blow right

Past a muthaf*cka and yes his hoe might

Flag me down the next time she see me

But flaggin' down Dre ain't that easy

Steady lookin' out for the black-and-white ones

So I can hit the gas, swing some tight ones

In my mob shot Chevrolet, I roll every day

And bullshit tapes I'll never play

I bump $hort and Spice, and MC Pooh

That gangsta shit, I thought you knew

Man, I'm so cool, in my old school

Steady pullin' bitches when I hit the high school

Short and tall, light and heavy

They all wanna ride in my Chevy

(“I be straight Chev' strikin'”)

(“Listen to the bassline, don't it sound funky”)

(“I be straight Chev' strikin'”)

(Mac Dre, tell these fools about Mac Mall)

(Mac Dre: My homeboy Mac Mall ain't nothin' muthaf*ckin' nice, boy, I'm tellin' you. You better peep the game that he got from the Crestside streets. You know what I'm sayin'? f*ckin' ‘em up like that there, you know. Can't f*ck with us, man. They can't f*ck with us, man. We got too much game, mayne.)

(Alright, Khayree, bring that shit right back. Straight from the Crestside, it's young Mac Mall.)

(“Money-makin', hoochie-sinkin' Crestside playa”)

Catch me in the traffic, it's Mall comin' through in a ‘74

I'm known to blow your doors on the sideshows

With the shift kit tranny, nigga, what you think?

Put your mail with your mouth and we can race for bank

And on a full tank, watch how hectic I get

Strikin' with the SES when I'm tacked from the chronic

Ride slow just like the comp on the elites

And I'mma f*ck ya dome when I see you in the streets

But in the driver seat, stride way too low, fool

When I strike, I watch what your hoe do

Trick I know you hate the SES crew

We straight Chev' strikin' on these punk ass niggas too

Fool, what you know about the Strictly SES soldier?

f*ckin' with the doja, it might have me in a coma

Nathan nice from the north of the Valley Jo

Chronic, Old Gold, spittin' game to pimp, playas and the hoes

Known to live illegal but Feds never find a trace

Never Captain-Save-a-Hoe, playas never wear a cape

Never rappin' fake and we zappin' across every state

Comin' up is my fate, so punks love to playa hate

But see I never trip because the Chev' is lookin' hella whipped

Every nigga and they bitch is sprung on this playa shit

So when you see me, man, punch it

Because the squad is in the town with the Zapco adjusted

Fifteens bumpin' as I hit the highways on the turf with Smurf

Hittin' the block sideways

And I can swing it five ways, danked, always in a daze

Rollers try to fade, but trick I'mma stay paid

Fools try to ride, they know they ain't ready

The marks claim they mobbin' but they ain't strikin' them Chevys, mayne

We strikin'

(“I be straight Chev' strikin'”)

(“Money-makin', hoochie-sinkin' Crestside playa”)