G-Funk Chronicles

Yeah

West Coast style

Still the same number

First class tickets but I'm grounded in the clay

Still the same number,

call me anyway Cruising down the avenue,

gold rims shine No pop singing,

just the heavy bassline

I keep the circle small,

the money tall

Watching from the penthouse,

I can see it all

(ooh yeah)

This is that West Coast bounce,

heavy on the beat Still the same number when we're riding in

the street First class tickets,

now we fly across the coast

Never had to change,

we just did it the most

(haha

yeah)

Same area code, same block where I started First class flight but

we never departed From the roots of the struggle,

the talkbox sings Just pure G-funk,

no commercial pop strings

We keep it moving,

top down in the breeze Got the game locked up,

holding all the keys

(ooh yeah)

This is that West Coast bounce,

heavy on the beat Still the same number when we're riding in

the street First class tickets,

now we fly across the coast Never had to change,

we just did it the most (haha yeah)

Still the same number

First class