Westcoast Chronicles

[Intro] *(Smooth synth chords, heavy bassline, and a rolling snare. A voice echoes, "Westcoast, let’s ride…")* [Verse 1] Rollin’ down Crenshaw, chrome glistenin’ in the sun, Top back, palm trees, yeah, the vibe’s never done. Sippin’ on that gin and juice, keep the funk in my stride, Double cup, low-low, puffin’ clouds where I reside. OG vibes, but the trap’s got a new flame, Ice on the chain, but the game’s still the same. Slide through the block, got the Glock in the seat, Westcoast king, every verse’s a cold b**t. [Chorus] Westcoast chronicles, we don’t fold, we just rise, From the streets to the suites, keep the grease in the fries. Bangin’ on the left side, where the hyphy don’t die, Hard trap bass, make the whole block collide. [Verse 2] Gangsta rhythm, Snoop flow, smooth like a joker’s hand, LBC to the Bay, every city’s my land. Gold grill flash, but the truth’s in the rhyme, Pimp cup full, never chase, just recline. Ridin’ dirty, but the beats stay pristine, Bulletproof Cadillac, life’s a movie scene. Hustlers nod when the b**t drops like thunder, Westcoast sound—ain’t no copy, just wonder. [Bridge] (Yeah) From the sidewalk to the stage, we don’t fade, Every rhyme’s a .44, every hook’s a g*****e. Trap drums knockin’, bassline screamin’ “rebel,” Westcoast legacy—stamped in every metal. [Chorus] Westcoast chronicles, we don’t fold, we just rise, From the streets to the suites, keep the grease in the fries. Bangin’ on the left side, where the hyphy don’t die, Hard trap bass, make the whole block collide. [Outro] *(B**t fades with a distorted guitar riff and distant police sirens. A final ad-lib whispers, “Chronicles… forever.”)*