Discover the poetic beauty in ‘Lil Girl’ by 213. This lyric breakdown takes you on a journey through the artist’s thoughts, emotions, and the story they aim to tell. From clever metaphors to evocative imagery, we delve into the nuances that make this song a lyrical masterpiece. Whether you’re a fan of 213 or a lover of well-crafted words, our detailed analysis will give you a deeper understanding and appreciation of this song.
Lil’ girl from the ghetto ran away from home
Tryin’ to be a fucking woman acting way too grown
Then she ran across the border homie, 24-inch chromes
Now she walking down the track and stripping
With them brand new high heels on
She too young for me so I passed her to the next dude
Got hood fame, what a shame what X’ do
Hang with a crew that love getting revenue
With a description of 1972
Now who’s the mack in the ‘Lac leaning to the side
24’s gleaming, sitting up high?
Ride and won’t die but you young bitch
Spit words so fly, get you sprung, bitch
Young Slick, his name, chasing Don Juan fame
Trying to replace him with modern day game
We don’t hate then shoot if you mess with his prostitute
And what I hear, he got a lot to shoot
Now what if dude get your crew Slick got one too?
Don’t let the pimpin’ fool you, he got hot ones too
Blew his brains out now he catching chain out to Chino’s
Slick got caught up fucking with a young dogg
My nigga Slick was a gangbang motherfucking lunatic
Nigga out to get a grip, sworn in to do this shit
Nigga only do this shit and make this shit official
A little bitty nigga quick to hit you with the pistol
Ain’t no motherfuckers squabbin’ me and that’s on 20s
Plenty niggaz felt the wrath of his deuce-deuce gun blast
Ask ’cause on the corner with the bullet holes his chest blast
Dumb-dumb don’t want come test
‘Cause he’ll lay you to rest, tattooed with a set on his neck
Demanding respect, Crip or die, is how he ride
Long Beach, East Side roll in two times
Every nigga on the yard know ’cause’ rep
A straight gangsta for life and I love that
It’s not just a job fool it’s a lifestyle
And when you’re slipping, woo-wam-lights-out
Lil’ boy from the ghetto with you’re greased up khaki’s on
Used to be a ball player, homie what the f*ck went wrong?
Used to see him on the corner daily hand up on his throne
Tried to knock him off a bank recently, 25 to life, so long, he gone