The burning sands of the lowlands "The L dot A dot" -Tash of Tha Alkaholiks "Hip Hop Drunkies" Yo you don't know man? "The L dot A dot" Yo You don't know man? (x2)
Verse 1: Give thanks that's what I say when I wake Another day in L.A. feel the sun bake I holla at Scott he knows about the spot At the beach Dockweiler nigga straight box I call up Swift let him know about the shit Call up Will He got the Henessy on chill I'm with Doncril he on deck with Santrel Rollin' bleezy like Terry McMillian wait to exhale My nigga Will stay off Stocka Some city got hot bitches but on Crenshaw it's hotta >From bad ass bitches to cold ass Impalas Vasea special with two glasses for twenty dollars It's hella hot we pull up to Dockweiler The scene is so lovely it makes me wanna holla
Hook: The burning sands of the lowlands where sisters is bad man And brothers fear no man Yo you don't know man? (X2)
Verse 2: Summertime 7:30 time for sunsets Sometimes I go and park with my queen and get lit Watch the sun cascade over the ocean Thoughts about how the Likwit gonna put it all in motion Sometimes I sit and watch and see dolphins Defari alumni From Pac 10 like Kenny Lofton Never soft stay healthy avoid coughs In L.A. we buy houses fuck apartments and lofts Yo my cold flow straight wild west professional California green from the trees down to the vegetables Wack MCs are also edible After six figures where I'm trying to see my decimal Pointland, cash in hand I'm on my way to see Phil in the Cressant Heights Lowland
Hook (x4)
Verse 3: Flex the skills see this broad with a baby strill Ass poppin out no doubt man I got's to kill Like Grant Hill I play with cool moves See niggas out here we ain't loud we straight smooth And don't mistakes fool for being chump Cause L.A. is the wrong place if you think niggas won't thump In a flash Sunshine, cars, bitches and cash Six foot rippers, chron blends with hash We classic like that T.V. show M.A.S.H. With bitches way badder than that broad Stacey Dash No jokin' that's word to brother deep dish spokin' Down the boulevard pint in hand straight smokin' No chokin', and no it's not brown that's word to Oakland One time sees us stoppin' for bitches and keeps rollin'
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Copy to Clipboard: The burning sands of the lowlands "The L dot A dot" -Tash of Tha Alkaholiks "Hip Hop Drunkies" Yo you don't know man? "The L dot A dot" Yo You don't know man? (x2)
Verse 1: Give thanks that's what I say when I wake Another day in L.A. feel the sun bake I holla at Scott he knows about the spot At the beach Dockweiler nigga straight box I call up Swift let him know about the shit Call up Will He got the Henessy on chill I'm with Doncril he on deck with Santrel Rollin' bleezy like Terry McMillian wait to exhale My nigga Will stay off Stocka Some city got hot bitches but on Crenshaw it's hotta >From bad ass bitches to cold ass Impalas Vasea special with two glasses for twenty dollars It's hella hot we pull up to Dockweiler The scene is so lovely it makes me wanna holla
Hook: The burning sands of the lowlands where sisters is bad man And brothers fear no man Yo you don't know man? (X2)
Verse 2: Summertime 7:30 time for sunsets Sometimes I go and park with my queen and get lit Watch the sun cascade over the ocean Thoughts about how the Likwit gonna put it all in motion Sometimes I sit and watch and see dolphins Defari alumni From Pac 10 like Kenny Lofton Never soft stay healthy avoid coughs In L.A. we buy houses fuck apartments and lofts Yo my cold flow straight wild west professional California green from the trees down to the vegetables Wack MCs are also edible After six figures where I'm trying to see my decimal Pointland, cash in hand I'm on my way to see Phil in the Cressant Heights Lowland
Hook (x4)
Verse 3: Flex the skills see this broad with a baby strill Ass poppin out no doubt man I got's to kill Like Grant Hill I play with cool moves See niggas out here we ain't loud we straight smooth And don't mistakes fool for being chump Cause L.A. is the wrong place if you think niggas won't thump In a flash Sunshine, cars, bitches and cash Six foot rippers, chron blends with hash We classic like that T.V. show M.A.S.H. With bitches way badder than that broad Stacey Dash No jokin' that's word to brother deep dish spokin' Down the boulevard pint in hand straight smokin' No chokin', and no it's not brown that's word to Oakland One time sees us stoppin' for bitches and keeps rollin'
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