Triple X Records - Creepin' lyrics

[Verse 1: Wicked] Kicking it, strap on my side and I'm so high Thinking bout them putos that tried to do the drive-by Creeping in the alley, ese this ain't the valley Cholos are deep in a f**ing brown Caddie Drop to the floor, a f**ing four door (There's some putos we jump) Ese, they're coming for more petho Watch real close as I level His head to the seat, my quette he hands me Six feet deep is where this culo stays Although in a coma for a couple of days, anyways That's what I see on 21 Street, where we meet in the big SC South Central is loco represento The crazy a** Eastside is in your f**ing mental Lento, but harder than a motherf**er Catch me on a bad day knocking out a clucker [Hook x2] Creepin' through my neighborhood Quette on my side, always up to no good On the Eastside, where the balas fly Only true gangsters ese, I don't lie [Verse 2: Wicked] Now all you cholos know we gotta handle our streets Always keeping trucha cuz the black and whites creep All gotta pay dues, think it's time to take a cruise Bensando in my hand, f** them fools They throw a rat on the f**ing murder rap Now it's time for us to go on back Simon, we're the ones you putos can not stand I'm coming to get you with a quette in my hand Damn there he goes, stop, I go, I caught his a** quick Nada me duro puro, blu blu to his stomach I stuck Two balas at first then one on top for luck f** I gotta go, this puto needs no more To make our escape we just drove away slow We gotta handle ours, leaving scars Q-Vo to the homies behind bars [Hook x2] [Verse 3: Toker] As I light and hit the sherm stick I sit back and think of doing crazy sh** So we roll, and it's late at night Got my little homie Sharp, and Wicked by my side Rolling in the G-ride heading out the East Side Ahora en la noche some bendejo dies Simon, it's all a gang trip If you're in it and you know it say "you better not slip" Crazy cholos don't give a f** Simon, f** the juras, my dick they can s** Straight gang-banging till the day I die Senor Wes I'm innocent, I don't lie Big pantalones, creased out, t-shirts Hitting it with the homies always putting in work Sur, X-Tres is where the f** I roam Los Angeles (East Side) is where I call my home [Hook x2] [Verse 4: Wicked] Enemigas try and fade, when we show up they run away I guess they seen us coming with our guns ready to spray You look like a b**h when you run from us I know you know we got guns that bust Plus you know I'll peel your f**ing cap Didn't catch you yesterday but I'ma get you off the map So strap, cause they only way you're lasting if you're f**ing blasting Never recognize me cause I'm always masking on a mission All the santos missing, then they shoot this fool and then start dissing Display my motherf**ing gangster's way Spit on his a**, tu pinche madre Just like that, making putos disappear Ya que, at least I'm still here No fear, those majotes and my Mexican Pride Jump in the lowride and cruisin through my East Side [Hook x2]