Artist: MC Eiht f/ WC Album: Which Way Iz West Song: Represent Like This Typed by: Lil Hustle [WC] Blum-blum, blinky-blum When I pull it out I cock it, watch em all run-run From the gun play, made them lay on they face And bitch when I spray, it ain't no fucking can of mace I'm the last nigga to tango with, a cane and a ankle quick Dub-C and Eiht, on some working them ankles shit Bout time, some niggaz dropped rhymes To make you represent, and putting them fingers out high High haters, from the state of the Raiders Still getting paper, dressed like Dickey in Taylor's Raised by this shit, I lay dip and scrapers Sticking to the script, so this shit can't break us Touch my chips off, I'll kick y'all Have you here rolling on the ground, like a motherfucking eight ball And when I'm readily, keep niggaz wishing like candling Look mother, there go that man again [Chorus] Here we go, here we go again It's a gangsta hit, and you could represent like this Here we go, here we go again It's a gangsta hit, and you could represent like this Here we go, here we go again It's a gangsta hit, and you could represent like this Niggaz g'eah, bitches g'eah And you could represent, like this [MC Eiht] No nuts g'eah loc, no glory My mind play tricks, but that's another gang story 3-2-1, and the gats bast One time swoop through, kinda fast Fast lane life, so a nigga chase All for the snaps, can a nigga taste Break o'self, g'eah kill or be killed In a land where it's fuck your side, feel Deal, real raps be the program Eiht Dub-C, be a summer jam Hood with the first, g'eah loc one hunnid One of the West's best, motherfuckers don't want it Too hard mo'fuckers, West up Wife beater, bandana and a paper cup Fo' deep, two hats to the back One shooter on deck, when the beef gon' crack g'eah [Chorus] [MC Eiht] Me and my girlfriend, been tight since grade school Lesson for the day, get paid fool Yeah nigga, pay in full Bullshit on the mic, so the strap get pulled Nigga never waste time, when it come to the grind All day keep it West, DJ rewind Eiht and Dub-C real hood loc, take it back Golf hats, eight ball in the Cadillac Down the block low rats, in the next lane Where the hood cellophane, earrings match the chain No pain no gain, make it rain So strange no change, ay just stay in my lane Funny niggaz on the mic, check they vocals If it ain't hood with the speech, go loco Psycho, like the motherfuckers you could tell Me and my niggaz Dub-C, rap for real g'eah [Chorus] (*talking*) My nigga Brenk Sinatra on the beat Beat em down loc Because, they had said that we was Smoking all his fire, shit We was just bad to the bone, we was gangstas