510, 213 Lyrics - Singles - Spice 1

[Chorus] 

5-1-0 and 2-1-3 is you a baller or a G? 

Ha ha ha. 

To thug or not to thug? 

To G or not to G? 

See that's the question. 

Every time I hit L.A. I get love you know 'cause I'm from the Bay. 

Dub see, Big Syke you know Spice 1, feel me. 

Count the dollars on the Lexy don't waste your time 

Let it shine let it shine let it shine 

Mizzolas and 850 flossin' I'm tossin' 

Doobies up out the window smokin' often coughin' 

Chokin' hard up off the indo smoke 

My mens with extra clips Hennessy Lemon squeeze begin to dip on me 

The G with the strap up on my side 

Keepin' these haters upon they toes 'cause they know I'm ready to ride 

Hide but you can't get away 

This is your dead homie you should of put your tool away 

But you still pull it on me, see I ain't trippin' 

I got foot soldiers that do dirt for me 

Love me enough to hurt for me and do some work for me 

Black roses is sent to the families with all the lives lost 

Kill 'em soft pay off my henchmen like a mob boss 

Mobster ballin' out the hooptie 

Who could it be? S.P.I.C.E. 

[Chorus] 

Sound like baller I'm caught up in troubled times 

Destiny knows help me free my mind 

What can I do but stay true and be a man 

I'm just doin' what I can 

Migrate to Oakland lay low with my dog Spice 

Hang out with killers and dodge device 

Gotta pay the price took a life or maybe two (was it two?) 

I wouldn't of done it if I didn't have to 

In the wrong place at the right time evil minds learkin' 

Thought I was over peerkin' searchin' for a home I feel alone 

On these cold streets, sleepin' on couches with no sheets 

God guide me hide me from incarceration and start this desperation 

I'm facin' more time then I really got to give 

Damn I want to live in 2-1-3 

[Chorus] 

It's the Dub S.C. on G parolee 

And although deez steadily grinding for cheese 

Trunk fulla keys on my way O.T. from 5-1-0 to the 2-1-3 

I puts it down bendin' the corner with my all blue Chevy 

My mind on gettin' the fetti, my heater cocked back and ready 

With G's crime related, affiliated eyes faded 

Big bodies paper plated stayin' shaded for federated 

My crews full of nothin' but riders high off the Remy 

Chuck Taylors neck pieces and knitted beenies (uh ha) 

Mashin' on the regular hustlin' day and night 

Went from chronic to water but now we pushin' the China white 

Much loved by many but now by many hated 

Trippin' off the the haters lookin' mad 'cause we made it 

But don't get mad at me because I executed the game 

I got my hustle on lock you can do the same 

[Chorus]