Lletres: Ice Cube. I Am the West. Soul On Ice.

Off the dribble
September 28th
That's the date
I am the West
In stores
You got to get that shit

Internationally known
You got to smell my cologne
Last coast, motherfucker
Last toast, motherfucker

Old money, old money, old money, old money
Old money, old money, old money, old money
Old money, old money, old money, old money
Old money, old money, old money, old money

Old money, new money, no money, nose money
Don't try to turn the Godfather into sonny
Don't try to turn your forefathers into money
The rap guy got the whole world prayin' for me

Pray for me, [Incomprehensible]
Crazy tunes DJ it for me
I'm the real Iron Man
You just rub it down me
I'm crack head and black face
Fresh out the country, nigger

Back the fuck up off me
I burn just like hot coffee
I'm kind of sweet like toffee
Look what this gangdom thought me

Look, mamma, look, mamma
I'm soul on Ice
Look, mamma, look, mamma
I'm soul on Ice

Look, mamma, look, mamma
I'm soul on Ice
Look, mamma, look, mamma
I'm soul on Ice
Hey