Mr. Criminal - Sounds of the Barrio

〈Intro〉
Broadcasting love from the crime lab
It’s Mr. Criminal, Lokote & Stomper, what?
Reminiscing, about growing up in the varrio homie

〈Verse 1: Mr. Criminal〉
I remember growing up, it was a real hard task
Got in a fight, you beat em down
If not, then that was your ass
And I’m not, just reminiscing just all off of the past
These days these vatos don’t scrap
These days these vatos they blast
A product of the varrio, with my back against the wall
Pocket full of 8 balls, on the run from juvenile hall
I remember like a splinter in the back of my mind
Getting my hustle on daily, running from the one timе
Grab the pintura homie, let’s start to mobb
Varrio Silvеrlake Trece, all the enemigas get crossed
Smoking chronic in a circle, with the Wynos all deep
Baby Huey, Shy Boy, Niño, Oso, Creepy and me
Straight riding Sur siding, pistols all ready
Found another vato hits the calles
Now you hear the fucking siren
In the year ‘98, I was fighting a case
The same year my perro Shy Boy took the bala in the face

〈Chorus: Mr. Criminal〉
Sounds of the varrio
Shhh.. listen, can you hear it?
Walking through the cemetery
Talking to the spirits
In the varrio
Where the homies roll deep
Banging 24 hours a day, 7 days a week
In the varrio
Where the homies pack straps
Vatos collapse for crossing the wrong side of the tracks
In the varrio
Listen up, in the varrio

〈Verse 2: Stomper〉
Taking it back, I was a youngster on the street
A little vato serving heat, in the New Town street
Keeping up much dust, a young gun with a mission
Cooking up big dope, chopping up keys in the kitchen
More bounce to the ounce, as I bounce with a ounce
Watching my pockets get fat, still I’m fucking around
A criminal minded muthafucka, so sick & corrupt
Reminiscing of homies as they get locked up
And as the years went by, yeah I got caught up
But now I’m fresh up out the county
I ain’t giving a fuck
Fuck the world was my attitude, I had no hope
Long nights on the calles, out there slanging my dope
And every time I think of my homies, who passed away
I pay respects to my homies & I visit their grave
Packing a strap, watching my back
Cause there was no peace, I lived a life of a G
From the South East streets, and like that
The haters come out to check my nuts
And end up covered with white sheets & covered with guts
From the slug I deliver, make em shake & shiver
A blood spiller from the Nuevo Gang
A real rat killer

〈Chorus: Mr. Criminal〉
Sounds of the varrio
Shhh.. listen, can you hear it?
Walking through the cemetery
Talking to the spirits
In the varrio
Where the homies roll deep
Banging 24 hours a day, 7 days a week
In the varrio
Where the homies pack straps
Vatos collapse for crossing the wrong side of the tracks
In the varrio
Listen up, in the varrio

〈Verse 3: Lokote〉
In a primer’d muthafucking wagon (that’s right)
Going solo causing havoc
Gave a fuck, ready to fucking ride right
With the crazy veteranos and murder on my mind
Knucklehead on the loose
Shotgun (sup puto) ready to shoot
Always hungry to earn some fucking stripes
Flick me off puto, bullets fly
Treinta dos still gang banging
Pinche felon causing havoc
East Side Cuatro Flats is lo que representó
44 hollows son las balas que te meto
Fuck norteños from Arizona (south side)
Big Lokote - Hi Power stomping on ya (leva)
Lowrider show, fuck a snort hoe
Ask anybody in case you don’t know
2 against 1, you bitches couldn’t hang
Stomp your fucking brains
Aquí para Southland
Every day that goes by I get more fucking violent
Catch you fucking slipping
Leave you in eternal silence

〈Chorus: Mr. Criminal〉
Sounds of the varrio
Shhh.. listen, can you hear it?
Walking through the cemetery
Talking to the spirits
In the varrio
Where the homies roll deep
Banging 24 hours a day, 7 days a week
In the varrio
Where the homies pack straps
Vatos collapse for crossing the wrong side of the tracks
In the varrio
Listen up, in the varrio