We Run the Block Songtext
von Spice 1 & MC Eiht

Geah, come on
Feels good, don′t it?
Bustin' shots at these bitch ass niggas
From the East Bay to Compton
Makin′ the K rally
Geah, it go ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch
Y'all feel me?
Come on, East Bay, stand up


I'm from the back streets but not like them white boys
From Compton I fight boys and pack toys
Like the Public Enemy stay bringin′ the noise
I ain′t nervous when I bust shots, I stay poised
Like old school Mantronix, geah's the word
I deal with you bitin′ motherfuckers, ya heard?
The Compton hood, the East Bay gang
Gang of hoodrats and watch the slang
Gettin' head in the front while the lo-lo swang
Ignore my other rat watchin′ the phone ring
I stain shirts and boots and much worse
Have cluck heads beamin' like Captain Kirk
Wipe the smirk off your face, I′ll slap the taste
Out your motherfuckin' mouth, you can name the place
We can let off our aggression, no need for confession
I'mma take the blame for the retaliation, no stressin′

We work hard, the East Bay thug in here
Hard, my Compton nigga bringin′ up the rear
Blast, like a 40 Glock
Blow, G's ′cause we run the block
We work hard, the East Bay thug in here
Hard, my Compton nigga bringin' up the rear
Blast, like a 40 Glock
Blow, G′s 'cause we run the block


We keeps it crackin′ on some mob shit, bossalini
With an infrared beam and a scope, you couldn't see me
Got a problem with guns, can't seem to keep ′em out my palm
See me dumpin′ with a gold AK like Saddam
She thought they was 22's, I told her they 24′s
She got naked in the back of the Hummer, took off her clothes
Money, guns and bitches, it's all in my thug nature
Real players couldn′t shine if it wasn't for haters
This mob shit is major, pistols, power and paper
Jerry West, throwback, Los Angeles Lakers
Smith & Wesson, Mitchell & Ness
4-4 In my pocket, 4-4 on my chest
I′m a motherfuckin' rider, addicted to the game
Ain't a damn thing changed, I bust with the same range
I ain′t new to this thug shit, been a rider since day one
Keep a pistol up in the stash, rollin′ King Kong blunts

We work hard, the East Bay thug in here
Hard, my Compton nigga bringin' up the rear
Blast, like a 40 Glock
Blow, G′s 'cause we run the block
We work hard, the East Bay thug in here
Hard, my Compton nigga bringin′ up the rear
Blast, like a 40 Glock
Blow, G's ′cause we run the block

I'm still hard, cold heart, spittin' my flow
Hard hittin′ motherfucker tryna shoot through the do′
Punks jump the funk, goin' up to get beat
If it comes to more than that, man, we bloody the street
Hard, like a magnum force
Like a bitch took a billion dollars after divorce
Hard, like cookin′ down the soft
Like you hit the blunt too hard, a nasty cough
I stay with the program, E don't fall
I bust through the defense, won′t fumble the ball
Like a tuned up Chevy engine, I won't stall
I′m makin' this the end, your final call
E and Spice, makin' dollars
If you a customer then nigga holla
We go hard in the paint like Magic and Kareem
Spice go for the safe while I aim the beam

We work hard, the East Bay thug in here
Hard, my Compton nigga bringin′ up the rear
Blast, like a 40 Glock
Blow, G′s 'cause we run the block
We work hard, the East Bay thug in here
Hard, my Compton nigga bringin′ up the rear
Blast, like a 40 Glock
Blow, G's ′cause we run the block
We work hard, the East Bay thug in here
Hard, my Compton nigga bringin' up the rear
Blast, like a 40 Glock
Blow, G′s 'cause we run the block
We work hard, the East Bay thug in here
Hard, my Compton nigga bringin' up the rear
Blast, like a 40 Glock
Blow, G′s ′cause we run the block