Who ride wit us in the midnight haze,
chrome glint, moonlit .45 blaze,
Kurupt verbal voodoo, verbal AKs,
cut through the fog like switchblades—
ain’t no peace treaties, only blood parades.
Lowride tires whisper on blood-stained tar,
ghosts of Compton bumpin’ from the trunk of my car.
One hand on the wheel, one hand on fate,
if death rolls up then we slide out late.
Who ride? Roll the window, let the muzzle flash light—
every heartbeat drums “kill or be killed” tonight.