[Intro]

[Intro] (Heavy 90s Bay Area bounce, rolling sub-bass, clean funk guitar riff, slow synth whistle) Yeah… Celly Cel style, straight out the Bay Hillside to the Flatlands, you know how we mob Keep it real with 'em, hit the block Check it… ​[Hook] I would like to get to know if I could be the kinda girl that you could be down for And when I look at you, I feel something tell me that you're the kinda guy I should make a move on N' if I don’t let you know, then I won’t be for real I could be wrong, but I feel like something could be going on It’s going down tonight, and tonight it goes down Cruisin' down the street, smokin' indo, laid back Got my money on my mind, but you stay on my mind. ​[Verse 1 - Male Rap (Bay Area Mob Style)] Riding high in the 4, creeping real low Got the 24s spinnin' while the sub-bass blow It’s the Bay Area bounce, got the whole street locked From the funk on the block to the top of the clock You talking ’bout a move? Girl, I’m peeped your game Ain’t no playin' with the paper or the Hillside name Keep the money on deposit, withdrawals ain’t the play Gotta stack it to the ceiling, do it the Mob way Got the indo rolled, windows tinted out dark When we step up in the spot, yeah, we leaving our mark So if it’s going down tonight, let the beat just bump 'Cause when Celly on the track, keep the whole trunk thump. ​[Chorus] Cruisin' down the street in my 24s, drop top low, riding slow It's going down tonight, only got one life to live So im'a make it count, stack the chips, and watch 'em flow All eyes on the lane, ain't no limit to the hustle Got my money on my mind, but you stay on my mind! ​[Verse 2 - Male Rap (Smooth Bay Flow)] Look, I’m a player from the West, keeping hustle in my soul Got my eyes on the prize and the bank on control You lookin' like a rider who can stand by the side When the heat hit the street and we taking this ride No fake stuff here, keep it 100 on the real We can count up the stash while we working on a deal Lil bank, big bank—yeah, we bout to elevate Got a table at the top, put the feast on the plate Blow the smoke to the sky, let the synth whistle ride Got the game in the palm, nowhere left to hide. ​[Outro] Yeah… laid back Smokin' indo, top down, feeling the breeze Bay to the world, keeping it mobbed out Tonight it goes down… real talk. (Fade out with heavy bassline and synth whistle)