Koda California Livin' song lyrics

Just another day, nothing wrong,

got my homies chillin' now

to the music I got

Fillin' up a glass,

full of Jack,

like to make a toast

Here's to all my niggas living on the west coast,

if you're rollin' up a blunt, then I respect it

my homie made that brand new strain

now we test it,

that shit got me lifted up high

like I'm floating in the sky.

or a jet plane flyin' over Texas

California Livin' got me feelin' like it's heaven

People say my music's hella dope

so I tell them take a toke,

Swisher Sweet tasted like a watermelon

We be yellin' out new strains I be sellin'

Everybody missin' me, 'cas I ain't ever there.

The middle of the desert, like butt-fuck nowhere.

Only 'cas I fucked around a lot, I didn't care.

I was like a little white kid who wasn't scared.

Everyday I sat around writing poems in my chair.

The classroom - drawing on the desks everywhere.

I didn't pay attention and the teachers were aware.

I didn't give a fuck about school, that's why I'm here.

Pretty soon I'll have my own diploma this year, lack of music is my only number one fear.

I'mma go home either way and smoke weed everyday because that's what I'll be doing over there.

Never thought I'd ever find a passion that I loved.

Barely 17, graduating so young.

Writing down rhymes and I spit to a beat that fits, edit it, publish it, then I'm done.

Walk around my town, call my dealer, get some, grab a couple Swishers and some girls, have fun.

Rolling up a split for each and everyone,

Get some in the sun on the beach smoking tons.

Yeah I said it, plus perfect it,

I suspect it, I collect it, all these words and these rhymes I get projected through the mic.

These niggas get

it's a curse, if you hatin' take a hike.

I know it's impolite, but whatever, it's alright.

My crew be gettin' hella fuckin' hyped up tonight.

All that dynamite, grab a lighter and ignite.

Take a hit, feelin' lit, gettin' higher than a kite.

Ride around town, hittin' up 7/11,

a slurpie and some extra cheesy ruffles that we gettin'

all my homies laid back,

smokin' that sack, tightly packed.

Fat hit's tasting sour like 11,

all my true niggas out be