[Frank V]
I'm a Low Pro thuggsta, used to be a muggsta
And if you heard Overdose you'd think I own a drug store
Raps like Rocha, or better yet coca
My beats are pure like heroin in the streets
So take a puff of the stuff, fill up your seringe
Cuz my shit's rough and tough and off the motherf*cking hinge
Through your area, zip code, trip code
I'm not a Busta, but I'll flip it to Flipmode
Get rich mode, get drunk hit a bitch mode
That '64 Chevrolet hit a switch mode
Royal T knows my vision, get paid and make a million
Stay ghetto rich
[Royal T]
It's the motherf*cking Royal T
I keep it cracking on the streets of SD
I f*ck with G's, you can't f*ck with me
I got them killers, homey you can't see, ese you can't be
You're all slipped up and you think you're hard
I got some little homies that'll pull your card
Put you in a coma, hit the next corner
Fool you can't hang with the Low Pro Gang
[Chorus x2: Lil' Rob]
You f*cking chavala, homey you ain't nada
You're bound to catch a bala in the side of your Impala
Who the f*ck you joking, what the f*ck you smoking
Whatever it is got you buzzing, cuz homeboy you ain't nothing
[Lil' Rob]
I step into the battlefield, one vato you can't overlook
Dropping shit with Royal T, Frank V, Yogi, and all the crooks
And we stop right through the blocks, got pedo we got the glocks
And you know we can't be stopped, baddest rolas ever dropped
And we do it all the days, keeping up our evil ways
Drop the top on Chevrolets, the differences that Low Pro pays
If you don't believe me you'll see me in my '63
Chrome'd out to the bone holmes, or in my Fleetwood, roam holmes
I got a f*cking bag of tricks, drinking by the pack of six
And I'll grab another one, that's a twelve pack and I still ain't done
Hotties young and I am too, parties I'm invited to
Crazy f*cking place to be, and I f*cking aim to please
Rolling in the two-tone, Chevy gangster lights on
Flying just like Superman, but I don't got no tights on
42-30's creased up, that's how I always am
Cruising in an oldie, bumping all them oldie jams
[Chorus x2]
[Bandit]
Cruising through the streets of Los Angeles
Everywhere I roll's looking scandelous
Roll your window half way if you can't handle this
Homey watch your back cuz we gonna die for this
Curb serving in the hoods, making paper, for sure we roll
We give a f*ck where you're from cuz that's just how shit go
Keep it cracking, make it happen, it the streets of the beat
People dying, bullets flying, see the news on tv
Real fools, real dues, in the streets where I'm from
Busting shots at the cops, homey f*ck the dumb
But set it off doing dirt, putting my name on the map
You recognize where I'm from and that's where I'm at
Phat Bandit marinating in the streets of LA
No player hation when you see me cuz it's all hoodgate
West Coast living, chilling, in the place to be
We got your back little homey, come and ride with me
[Chorus x2]
Low Profile Gangsters - What The F*ck You Smokin Lyrics
Low Profile Gangsters - What The F*ck You Smokin Lyrics
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We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
[Frank V]
I'm a Low Pro thuggsta, used to be a muggsta
And if you heard Overdose you'd think I own a drug store
Raps like Rocha, or better yet coca
My beats are pure like heroin in the streets
So take a puff of the stuff, fill up your seringe
Cuz my shit's rough and tough and off the motherf*cking hinge
Through your area, zip code, trip code
I'm not a Busta, but I'll flip it to Flipmode
Get rich mode, get drunk hit a bitch mode
That '64 Chevrolet hit a switch mode
Royal T knows my vision, get paid and make a million
Stay ghetto rich
[Royal T]
It's the motherf*cking Royal T
I keep it cracking on the streets of SD
I f*ck with G's, you can't f*ck with me
I got them killers, homey you can't see, ese you can't be
You're all slipped up and you think you're hard
I got some little homies that'll pull your card
Put you in a coma, hit the next corner
Fool you can't hang with the Low Pro Gang
[Chorus x2: Lil' Rob]
You f*cking chavala, homey you ain't nada
You're bound to catch a bala in the side of your Impala
Who the f*ck you joking, what the f*ck you smoking
Whatever it is got you buzzing, cuz homeboy you ain't nothing
[Lil' Rob]
I step into the battlefield, one vato you can't overlook
Dropping shit with Royal T, Frank V, Yogi, and all the crooks
And we stop right through the blocks, got pedo we got the glocks
And you know we can't be stopped, baddest rolas ever dropped
And we do it all the days, keeping up our evil ways
Drop the top on Chevrolets, the differences that Low Pro pays
If you don't believe me you'll see me in my '63
Chrome'd out to the bone holmes, or in my Fleetwood, roam holmes
I got a f*cking bag of tricks, drinking by the pack of six
And I'll grab another one, that's a twelve pack and I still ain't done
Hotties young and I am too, parties I'm invited to
Crazy f*cking place to be, and I f*cking aim to please
Rolling in the two-tone, Chevy gangster lights on
Flying just like Superman, but I don't got no tights on
42-30's creased up, that's how I always am
Cruising in an oldie, bumping all them oldie jams
[Chorus x2]
[Bandit]
Cruising through the streets of Los Angeles
Everywhere I roll's looking scandelous
Roll your window half way if you can't handle this
Homey watch your back cuz we gonna die for this
Curb serving in the hoods, making paper, for sure we roll
We give a f*ck where you're from cuz that's just how shit go
Keep it cracking, make it happen, it the streets of the beat
People dying, bullets flying, see the news on tv
Real fools, real dues, in the streets where I'm from
Busting shots at the cops, homey f*ck the dumb
But set it off doing dirt, putting my name on the map
You recognize where I'm from and that's where I'm at
Phat Bandit marinating in the streets of LA
No player hation when you see me cuz it's all hoodgate
West Coast living, chilling, in the place to be
We got your back little homey, come and ride with me
[Chorus x2]
I'm a Low Pro thuggsta, used to be a muggsta
And if you heard Overdose you'd think I own a drug store
Raps like Rocha, or better yet coca
My beats are pure like heroin in the streets
So take a puff of the stuff, fill up your seringe
Cuz my shit's rough and tough and off the motherf*cking hinge
Through your area, zip code, trip code
I'm not a Busta, but I'll flip it to Flipmode
Get rich mode, get drunk hit a bitch mode
That '64 Chevrolet hit a switch mode
Royal T knows my vision, get paid and make a million
Stay ghetto rich
[Royal T]
It's the motherf*cking Royal T
I keep it cracking on the streets of SD
I f*ck with G's, you can't f*ck with me
I got them killers, homey you can't see, ese you can't be
You're all slipped up and you think you're hard
I got some little homies that'll pull your card
Put you in a coma, hit the next corner
Fool you can't hang with the Low Pro Gang
[Chorus x2: Lil' Rob]
You f*cking chavala, homey you ain't nada
You're bound to catch a bala in the side of your Impala
Who the f*ck you joking, what the f*ck you smoking
Whatever it is got you buzzing, cuz homeboy you ain't nothing
[Lil' Rob]
I step into the battlefield, one vato you can't overlook
Dropping shit with Royal T, Frank V, Yogi, and all the crooks
And we stop right through the blocks, got pedo we got the glocks
And you know we can't be stopped, baddest rolas ever dropped
And we do it all the days, keeping up our evil ways
Drop the top on Chevrolets, the differences that Low Pro pays
If you don't believe me you'll see me in my '63
Chrome'd out to the bone holmes, or in my Fleetwood, roam holmes
I got a f*cking bag of tricks, drinking by the pack of six
And I'll grab another one, that's a twelve pack and I still ain't done
Hotties young and I am too, parties I'm invited to
Crazy f*cking place to be, and I f*cking aim to please
Rolling in the two-tone, Chevy gangster lights on
Flying just like Superman, but I don't got no tights on
42-30's creased up, that's how I always am
Cruising in an oldie, bumping all them oldie jams
[Chorus x2]
[Bandit]
Cruising through the streets of Los Angeles
Everywhere I roll's looking scandelous
Roll your window half way if you can't handle this
Homey watch your back cuz we gonna die for this
Curb serving in the hoods, making paper, for sure we roll
We give a f*ck where you're from cuz that's just how shit go
Keep it cracking, make it happen, it the streets of the beat
People dying, bullets flying, see the news on tv
Real fools, real dues, in the streets where I'm from
Busting shots at the cops, homey f*ck the dumb
But set it off doing dirt, putting my name on the map
You recognize where I'm from and that's where I'm at
Phat Bandit marinating in the streets of LA
No player hation when you see me cuz it's all hoodgate
West Coast living, chilling, in the place to be
We got your back little homey, come and ride with me
[Chorus x2]