Los Angeles Daze - People Under The Stairs

Check it… People Under The Stairs… Double K…

Thes One…

Putting it down… the way it should be…

For two…

The way it should’ve been…

L.A. style…

We gonna do it…

The West style…

Me and Thes…

Hip-hop…

You… Two, one…

For everybody…

Ask why and we’re be so while…

‘Cause I’m rough and I’m tough…

In a b-boy stance… and I come from L.A. (x2… then scratched together)

Crescent Heights city, yeah, that’s where I’m from

A gang of wild-ass niggas that don’t back down to run

And supposed to perpetrate on bustas that we putting it down

These so-called L.A. fools that ain’t nowhere to be found

I see you throwing up the «W,» but yo, I’m here to trouble you

Of what you listening to-1−3, and that’s 3−1-0, not 3−1-3, so get it right…

Bust it… yo, we makin' dope like Hoover and Pico, move slow

Be polite and everything’ll be alright, despite what other niggas say

Yo, this where it at, them other West Coast faggots, yo, where they at?

Word to MC Ren, I showed them people that you wack

Peace to the real crews defacing walls on backstreets

In the city of set, porch, halls, and swap meets

From the school of hard knocks, the generation passed down

Kaiser Permanente, yo, that’s where I was found

In the middle of the funk era, 'fros and dashikis

Pops was putting it down, chilling at the speakeasy

Now I’m posting at Unity with the b-boy stance (word!)

Take a glance and keep walking, yo, you know who it is

I’m from the motherfucking hardest-working group in show biz

If your shit ain’t humping right, don’t even bring it this way

You get booed off the stage, leaving town the next day

Telling your boys, «It is aight, better luck next time

The only thing that was cool: the weed, women, and sunshine»

Forgot to look under the stairs, yo, much more to boast about

Trying to diss and get that ass knocked out

Thes born in South America, moved to South Bay

Run with a crew from Mid-City, that’s where I stay

I’m from L.A., always have been, and always will be capitol

The sprawled up piece stands out like palm trees

Next to pine trees, blowing in the Santa Ana breeze

My DJ’s got fame, underground Rick Dees

I am MC, so bring in funk in five minutes

I jam like the 110 in the ‘84 Olympics

Keep the rhyme moving like the Unity location

Rap has been my vocation

Since before the Japanese owned the radio station

That’s why they Fired Jay Thomas

I keep it fattened like the llama, yo, I promise

Never stop, never change, like the price at Dodger Stadium

I blow up, rock free shows at the Palladium

Afterwards, the crew I’m taking ‘em to Tommy’s Burgers

Gotta be for every Los Angelino Murder

A rhyme for every burglar, Thes a well-worder

It comes together in a freeway like East LA merger

That means you’ll get no pay, but I urge you

Keep ya eye on L.A. like Chuck Henry, word

You heard of someone better?

Send ‘em our way

He get done the L.A. Way, the drive-by way…

‘Cause I’m rough and I’m tough…

In a b-boy stance… and I come from L.A. (all scratched together)

Check it… everyone in my town think they got flows

Thes serve more wack MCs than waitresses at Roscoe’s

You know me, at the graveyard shift, gettin spliffed

We can take it downtown like Figueroa and 5th

And after that, I’m heading up to El Cholo for some dinner

Bustin' through the inner-city underground like the red line

Thinner than the line at car wash in El Niño

That’s you son, see no time in this locale

Underground, down, talking ‘bout, «Yo, I’m keepin it real!»

I’m coming with the Walkman and tapes, not steel

Not a .22, .45, but a 9, Double O, 6

Put it on your letter to the better, lick a stamp, send it

And mail a letter to Thes, L.A. legend like Fernando Valenzuela

Yes, he never ran in a battle, yes

He be smoking beedis, watching the sun set from Sunset

Ay-yo, we got rappers walking around, shook like earthquakes

Blame it on San Andreas, it was a fault you had to wait

To grab the steel, how you feel?

Ain’t even got skills to represent

The City of Angels, my whole team is heaven sent

Getting shit accomplished, yo, check the way we rock this

Like the Raiders in ‘88, fool, you can’t stop us

Like gang-banging, this shit’ll be banging for centuries

Imperial groups spreading like bank robberies

Over the Southland, we put the funk in your trunk

To bump hard, like 808s, sorry you had to wait

But we was digging in the crates, no fear, it’s here

Shady like MacArthur Park, don’t get caught after dark

Might never come back, see, sometimes it’s like that

Some niggas carry a gat, some niggas use their head

But the smartest of the smartest’ll still come out dead

It’s true it ain’t where you’re from, it’s where you’re at

But you’ll still get caught up wearing the wrong colored-hat

And on that note, everybody shut the fuck up and kick it

Spliffted, whatever you do, make sure you don’t miss it

‘Cause we coming like the end, yo, it’s just about wax

So watch out, we bringing bad luck like Wilshire and Fairfax

And it’s just like that, so check it out…

‘Cause I’m rough and I’m tough…

In a b-boy stance… and I come from L.A. (all scratched together)

«Fred, where you from?»

«L.A.»

«Uh oh, uh oh!

Uh oh!

Ask him where he started from…»

California… (repeats)