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Written in L.A. while driving
Dedicated to Rialto
lyrics
we working this Cali, moving through the valley
the homeys got hungry, hit the drive-thru Rallys
the sun beats down on a one street town
I know a chick who lives about one street down
we on the porch sat in dirty chairs, birdies chirp, smoke's in the air
them hills burn up every year
flashbacks of driving by the Getty with ash raining down like confetti
the freeway unfolding like a scene outta Ronin
and I'm just zoning, hours fly by
the moment that I get where I'm going i'm over it
the journey not the destination, that's my high
if you want a nice drive, skip the 5
take the 101 to the PCH and just slide
the road's hard to follow but that's life
you don't mind getting lost, right?
this ain't no LA, no Bay, no Diego
Winnebago country, yayo in the humvee
city cats getting rich off rubes
now Fontana gone gangsta, check your evening news
Palmdale's still a hard sell, hot as hell
sand and concrete and no one can hear you yell
but for six bills a month you can live like a king
amongst strippers, meth labs and witness protection
check them ol Westerns, cowboys, thieves
all the crooks fleed the east for the side the sun sets in
folks with the two-car garages and office
grandfathers was bank robbers and mobsters
we got modern-day sharecroppers for the marijuanas
kinky-haired rastas selling shit to scared doctors
but coppers don't care, they just want their share off us
we coming back in August, them Cali sagas
when you can't go back home
when you make a mess and you can't make amends, that's a no
when everything reminds you of some pain
and you wish every day could be mundane as a Monday
when you wake up one morning and you don't feel so cool
and you wish you could go somewhere that nobody knows you
throw your faults in a vault, double-lock bolt, kiss your necklace
and hit the endless stretches of Cali for a new residence
not too far south
them Mexicans got it bad as Baghdad just to sell you a bag of that
flowing through the borders, they're porous
Juarez where the war is, the poorest, ain't too many tourists
we in the boonies where they test missiles
nights we lay back and just listen to the phone lines sizzle
safe out the way where the world'll let me be
where it's just me and my memories.. Cali
credits
from GREAT EXPECTATIONS,
released January 1, 2013
Produced by @bei_ru
Recorded at the Bowling Alley, Palms CA
Mixed by @yaminallday
