Ronald Reagan Era (His Evil)
Lyrics Kendrick Lamar

[Ash Riser]
We're far from good, not good from far
90 miles per hour down Compton Boulevard
With the top down, screaming, "We don't give a f*ck!"
Drink my 40 ounce of freedom while I roll a blunt
Cause the kids just ain't alright

Oh, sh*t n*gga, something 'bout to happen, n*gga, this sh*t..
N*gga this sound like 30 ki's under the Compton court building
Hope the dogs don't smell it

[Verse 1]
Welcome to vigilante, 80's so don't you ask me
I'm hungry, my body's antsy, I rip through your f*cking pantry
Peeling off like a Xanny, examine my orchestra
Granny said when I'm old enough, I'll be sure to be all I can be
You n*ggas Marcus Camby, washed up
Pussy, fix your panties, I'm Mr. Marcus you getting f*cked, uh
You ain't heard nothing harder since Daddy Kane
Take it in vain, Vicodins couldn't ease the pain
Lightning bolts hit your body, you thought it rained
Not a cloud in sight, just the sh*t that I write
Strong enough to stand in front of a traveling freight train, are you trained?
To go against Dracula dragging the record industry by my fangs
AK clips, money clips and gold chains
You walk around with a P90 like it's the 90's
Bullet to your temple, your homicide'll remind me that...

Compton Crip n*ggas ain't nothing to f*ck with
Bompton Pirus ain't nothing to f*ck with
Compton es├ęs ain't nothing to f*ck with
But they f*ck with me, and b*tch I love it
Woop de woop, woop de woop woop, woop de woop
Woop de woop, woop de woop woop (California dungeons)

[Verse 2]
Let's hit the county building, gotta cash my check
Spend it all on a 40-ounce to the neck and
In retrospect I remember December being the hottest
Squad cars, neighborhood wars and stolen Mazdas
I tell you motherf*ckers that life is full of hydraulics
Up down, get a 64, better know how to drive it
I'm driving on E with no license or registration
Heart racing, racing past Johnny because he's racist
1987, the children of Ronald Reagan raked the leaves off
Your front porch with a machine blowtorch (I'm really out here, my n*gga)
You blowing on stress, hoping to ease the stress (Like, really out here)
He copping some blow, hoping that he can stretch
Newborn massacre, hopping out the passenger
With calendars, cause your date's coming
Run him down and then he gun him down, I'm hoping that you fast enough
Even the legs of Michael Johnson don't mean nothing, because


Can't detour when you're at war with your city, why run for it?
Just ride with me, just die with me, that gun store
Right there, when you fight, don't fight fair cause you'll never win, yeah
(Right, I had the yapper, and I tore they ass up
We really out here, my n*gga, you n*ggas don't understand, my n*gga
I'm off of pill and Remy Red, my n*gga, trippin', my n*gga)


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