Kick Gravel + Travel

One kick feel the wind on my face

Another kick just to find my flow

The city massive, tryna my way

Crips, Bloods, which to way to go?

My head high but I ride low key, tryna unlock the soldier that's hidden deep

My uncle told me not to skate in the street kuz the pigs lookin feral and I'm slop in a bowl

Don't call me no slob or I'm clockin' em both

The clock steady tickin' and we still targets of racists

Fascists and haters who think that we roaches and then try to raid us

Exhaust their existence and then execute them

On my griptape in the hood and I'm cruisin'

The Westside is mine if I can avoid all the distractions that plague a young man in the city of Angels