[Intro: G-funk synth whistle, vinyl crackle, deep spoken male voice] Yeahhh... (uh-huh) West Coast, baby. Big bass, lowrider bounce. Gur-rilla... Big thrilla... (make ya wanna scream!) I Papi! (¿Qué pasa?) Ha-ha! Run that back. [Verse 1: laid-back West Coast rap, deep nasal baritone] Pull up slow, got the whole block lookin', Bass so fat got the rearview shakin', Gold on the wrist, got the whole room cookin', One little grin, now the whole place breakin'. Gur-rilla walk in, everybody make space, Big thrilla grin with a stone-cold face, Two-step left, then I lean to the right, Got the whole damn party doin' that twice. I got a big vocabulary, small dictionary, Talk so slick that it's downright scary, Mama said, "Boy, don't act so silly," I said, "Mama, I'm a one-man milli—" (Wait, what?) [Chorus: deep gang vocals, funky G-funk synth lead] GUR-RILLA! (GUR-RILLA!) BIG THRILLA! (BIG THRILLA!) MAKE YA WANA SCREEEAM! (SCREAM! SCREAM!) I PAPI! (AY, PAPI!) Too much sauce, can't fit in the scene! GUR-RILLA! BIG THRILLA! Whole room jump when I step on the scene! (I Papi!) (¡Ay, caramba!) [Verse 2: syncopated flow, rubbery bass, talk-box accents] I got a Cadillac parked by the curb, Talk real smooth, but I mumble each word, Walk in the spot like I own the entire place, Then forget why I came and I leave with a vase. (Whose vase?) Don't ask questions, just admire the drip, Got a cheese-burger stain on the side of my fit, My chain so cold, got the freezer on strike, My barber cut my hair and said, "Bro, that's a hike." Gur-rilla! (What?) Big thrilla! (Yeah!) Dance so hard that I pulled a hamstring, I Papi got the whole club yellin' my name, Even the DJ said, "Man, this dude is insane!" [Break: G-funk synth solo —12s] (We got the whistle!) (West Coast, baby!) (I Papi!) [Verse 3: faster flow, playful aggressive delivery] Big boss energy, tiny little car, Parallel parked like a superstar, Got ten missed calls from my own damn phone, 'Cause I left that sucker charging back at home. I don't chase clout, I chase the ice cream truck, Catch me in the driveway yellin', "WHAT'S UP?" Got a gold-plated spoon and a velvet cape, Eat spaghetti with a fork like a heavyweight. Gur-rilla, big thrilla, make ya wanna scream, I'm the king of the block and the prince of the bean, I Papi in the building, put your hands in the air, If you came here lookin' for your dignity... (It ain't here!) [Bridge: beat drops to half-time, deep spoken vocal] Hold up. Hold up. Who let this man in? (I Papi!) Who gave him the microphone? (I Papi!) Who put a leather jacket on that tiny chihuahua? (That's my security!) [Final Chorus: full gang vocals, synth whistle and heavy bass] GUR-RILLA! (GUR-RILLA!) BIG THRILLA! (BIG THRILLA!) MAKE YA WANA SCREEEAM! (SCREAM! SCREAM!) I PAPI! (AY, PAPI!) Too much sauce, can't fit in the scene! GUR-RILLA! BIG THRILLA! MAKE YA WANA SCREEEAM! (I Papi!) (I Papi!) (¡Dale, dale!) [Outro: beat strips down to bass and synth whistle] Gur-rilla... Big thrilla... I Papi. (Where's my vase?) [Vinyl scratch — fade out]
