(Ese 40'z Verse One)
Gone... $#&@ed up, out of my head

Loko, $#&@ you what you heard... ese $#&@ what you said
I'm that vato, 40'z... killing them bottles
Droppin them rolas, to bump in the barrio

Gone, skitzo, $#&@in psychosis
Out of my mental, I'm uppin my doses
Of soda, brew, and liquor and everything else

Like a finger on a trigger, I'm blastin myself
But ain't no suicide, I'm talking bout I'm faded
Blastin my mente, to the moon homes... I made it

To cloud nine and beyond, while I'm bumpin them oldies
Firme $$# tiempos, kicking back with some homies
And hynas and brew and the night is still "Nuevo"

Step up to the top, come and get on my level
You know I get so gone, like I've said it before
Eight o'clock in the morning and I'm headed foe the store

So I get some more brew and I smoke some more yierba
Snort up a few... but I won't hit the tierra
Going and going, till I circle back

I was gone, came back around, now I'm lost in this rap
In this vida I'm living, some would call it perdido
A $#&@ I'm not givin', I'm gone with no sequel...


(Ese 40'z Verse Two)
Gone, twisted... oldies serenated

All soaked up in pisto, drunken thoughts all marinated
To marry them calles... and stay in the barrio
and disturb the silence, with this wicked $$# audio

that I'm laying down, on these gangster $$# rolas
different cities, different towns, for them cholos and cholas
to bump at the kick back, while they're crackin them chelas

smoking whatever, what the $#&@ ever's cleva
and no I won't be the one, to ever say stop...ese
I'll be the one, climbing my way to the top

$#&@ the cops and the haters... and whoever wants to trip
"Hate Proof" music... be the greatest, better than that bull%#@!
that I'm hearing bout swaggin and bragging bout riches

ey pass me the brew... ey here's the blunt homie, hit this
and these tats on my face, are those of a clown
but some people wouldn't know, dumb as $#&@'s how they sound

when they say some other %#@!, but I'll take um to school
tell um jump off my dick, it don't make um look cool
when they hate and they whine... and talk %#@! all the time

Ese 40'z N-B-G, with the trece on mine
I'm that vato with two... fingers flipped up
Gone off bud and the brew... yelling, "I don't give a $#&@!!!"


(Verse Three)
Gone... ay te wacho, ain't no coming back

Cuz I stay sick and twisted, all over the map
Hitting spots... Smokin, drinkin, $#&@ing
Up in this vida, homeboy it ain't nothing

Ain't no big thang, smile now cry later
Casually dreaming, while clowning a hater
Sitting in the park, bumpin "Crimson and Clova"

$#&@ all my rivals, look over your shouldah
And I'll be right there, with that big payback thinkin
After this jale, it's time tah go drinkin

So somebody please, pass me a brew
Can't hold a good man down ese, I thought you knew
That I'm gone... and I'm... the one who really knows

That my style will never change, keep on sporting these clothes
Ben Davis, Chuck T's, Cortez Nikes, White T's
Cholo brims... and the rest of that g %#@!... I like these

Charlie brown stripes, with a pair of... O.G. Loccs on
While I drop another track, make it a brew or a smoke song
So I can get lost, help me to get all lifted

Some tell me I'm off, others tell me I'm gifted
But whatever's clever, I'd rather wrong
If in the mente I ain't right, $#&@ it ese I'm gone