"West Coast, Gulf Coast, East Coast"
  [Chorus:]
  Now these West Coast players and we love to ball...
  And these Gulf Coast Hustlers love to do it all...
  And them East Coast killas ought to represent
  And when we ride together we're gonna kill some shit...
    [Verse 1]
  I got my mind made up, I'm strapped and I'm riddin high
  West Side till I die, money multiplied
  Down and dirty hooked up with my phones
  Gulf Coast in a hurry cadillacs and gold jewlery
  And we blow big candy cane
  Playa hattin dirty Mex don't understand tha game
  Baby beach, baby beth, latino's if ever do you gang bang
  I can't do it cause I'm all about my money man
  Hoggin and doggin cheddar cheese full of scratch
  And got them super fly fish tags full of tash
  That's how we do it, hustle fluit runnin through my veins
  I got soldiers that'll dump for a little change...
    [Carlos Coy]
  Ring around the police, pockets full of hoezies
  It's the wizard tha 36 ozies
  Swingin n swervin jealous man's burden
  Hoe's see my ride and wanna say they a virgin
  20 inch turnin keep they heart hurtin
  H-town city slicker, buy my German
  Sippin' on bourban, back woods a burnin'
  Back in the days I couldn't get one wordin
  Now I park valet wit boys outta Cali
  Playas on pro's like the mother fuckin valley
  If you were me, u'd be surrounded by security
  Dope House, known for our purity
    [Chorus]
    [Verse 2]
  Yeah, these west coast riders with the down south G's
  17 shots pulled back an squeeze
  Take Keys break 'em down the o's and p's
  And I'll ball like a mother fuckin' C-fee toe
  I'm laced in this bitch like PCP, with SPM, and LOW-G
  Down with the click, I'm Baby Beesh
  and I'm a Hillwood Hustla 'til I die motherfucker
  I'ma grind in L.A. 'til my very last day
  It's a struggle but I gotta bubble baby, please believe it
  I guess that's the reason I roll with my rival
  And like I said big frost is a hard act to follow...
    [3rd verse - Rasheed]
  It's the - Philly Alumni
  on the drum I, come I
  wit the type of funk that make a sucka cry
  but he need no paper to fly
  I ain't gon' lie,
  my organization down wit World Wide Hustlaz
  gettin' sick, wit Salty Waters' Lifestyl livin' life-a
  the homie force that's gon' hop up on the plane
  seize, that Baby Beesh without the west coast mary jane
  on the east coast, they're going whacko for that stack of paper
  on the South Side, they run wit slangaz and they stack that paper
  we screamin' YAAY YAAY
  wit the baskets full of blaze
  South Park Mexican and Rasheed makin' power moves ev-ery day
  cashin' in the money,
  like Universal comin' wit Def Jam
  and do a hater we gon' have to...
    [Chorus x2]
    [Low G]
  It's yo boy Low G from the center of the planet
  I feel it get crunk and take control like Janet
  When you hear the hit, what show you gonna jam in
  Can't hang with the bandit, haters can't stand it
  Recommended a mendez, ta win dis
  The Menace most worse that Dennis
  Mmmmm, Me entiendes? Raches apendes
  Remember me Low-G from the block of rock
  Second war with the nine millemeter glock
  Keep it endless, stayin friendless
  Cali flex the next
  Kid Frost, Baby Beesh, Rasheed and the South Park Mex...
    [Chorus x2]