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West side. The world is mine back. Don't **** with my stack. The gauge is whacked, about to drop the bomb. I'm the ************* die. Big fish in a small pond. Not a fish trying to throw. They book at the cook, but I shook. They were men. They hooked. Guppies holding breath. They wanna miss me when I'm running everything West of the Mississippi. It's the unseen pulling strings with my pinky ring. We got some woman. Pucker up, but we **** her up. About down before I make a phone call. On your ****. We want them to everybody freeze on your knees, but naked, please, before any of you probably get hard. Rewind my part, fool about it when I come to your town. Hate it like you. Greater than you seeing steps. Descending the mad at Inglewood edition looks like a pimple. My mind is still mental the wet so I connect with me in South Central when the drag from the zig zag and **** with the Phillies holding down the Wild West like the kid they call Billy. Once again this is Maxine Brown Holler strong as a Coca-Cola wi...