Nipsey Hussle - Rimpau's Finest lyrics

Light that shit, nigga, smoke that
All the chronic in the sky feel me, feel me

Stop, look, and listen
Crank your box, turn up your system
Bang it on the block where you pitchin'
My synthesis is reminiscent of
What rap missin'
My gold glisten due to the zones
I sold in the district
I got bitches, that got niggas
That got digit's when she hit the mall
It's his cash she shoppin' with
She know my size, it's 36 and 10 in kicks
So she spend it
Then hit the women's shit and shoplift
It's crazy how many ladies call me "baby"
Monica and Mercedes, Tamika and LaShay
We be up all night, fuckin'
She suckin' monkey bites on my swipe
Smokin' blunts like this must be life
But then it's back to the grind and grizzly
Ya'm'sayin' with so much work
I chop rocks iwth guillotines
I want big things but them
Thoughts is still a dream
So I'm on the block until I get the cheese
'cause the paper, the cash, the dollars
The profit I'm after you savin' a stash
Shoebox and what's under your mattress
I stay on the ave
I've been watchin' the murders happen
I hit the alley
Get a sack and burn a blunt and pass it
On the block, on the bike
On the handlebars I'm rollin'
Duckin' them choppers that talk and
Watch when they patrollin'
Chrome super soaker
Pockets with rocks bulgin'
Double ups under Folger cans
Don't let the man know this
Pull up, what up? What you need? Bounce
Eighths to quarters to halves
To the whole ounce
My niggas use methods to stretch
It and zone out
And connect with Mexicans sendin'
Pounds down south

Rimpau ain't a mystery, we blast them guns
I hold down four blocks just standing on one
My life is Russian Roulette
And it's randomly spun
Put heaters in granny's house just
To her my love and yeah
My mama crazy but she pampered the funds
She knew that I wasn't just the average son
I'm Slauson, where if you criss-cross
Get jumped
We drive MC's with Hammers that make you run
See
I was raised where all the damage is done
I'll shoot dice late night where
Niggas won't even come
It's murder, ever since Joe's Juicy Burger
Round here
Cowards with Jheri curls get burnt up
Niggas, I'm from the slums and down here
It's hard to breathe when you got
A shell stuck in your lungs
And I do it for fun, the hood need me here
The smokers cheer when I run from the ones
Come on

Since a youngster, always loved the hood
Didn't know the history but I knew
It was more to it
Croker Sacks with Dickies pants
And hard music
Shorty hop to it, lovin' the movement
She true indeed
She puff weed like me, but she don't MC
High off the doja green, LA chosen scene
Back streets like, "Nigga
This is alley music"
Pump sacks how my niggas off in Cali do it
Often badly bruisin' haters 'cause they
Mad we do it get that money then fly just
Like a pack of poison
Then heatin' on 'em like Vicks
We QB, passin' the spliff, packages sell
Tryna grip from the ceiling to floor
How that dough growing mami fine
Lovin' the hustle like I love to do it
Can't knock it, we back on the block
With K-Swiss and Converse
White Tee and sharp creases what we work for