The Game - Untold Story/ Chopped & Screwed (2005) by The Game (보컬) on maniadb.com

(Chorus: repeat 2X)
Real gangstaz stand up, hold they dick
Bitch niggaz sit down to piss, what type of nigga is you?
I'm the type to pack a gat or few
Pull out and pop, simply cause I'm mad at you

(The Game)
Y'all niggaz see me when I'm come through; and ain't no denyin
that them big motherfuckers is twenty-five
Swayin in and out of white line, six double-oh
Deuce zeroes, I'm feelin like the streets is mine
Mines hustle, mucho dinero, heat's confined
See more fall guys than Foreman/Ali combined
If there's beef, I'm releasin mine
And I won't stop bustin 'til them Escalade seats recline
The kid roll with a greasy nine, come through and blast
I return shots like Arthur Ashe
You do the math, ten shots, ten dead bodies
Fuck bein sorry, it ain't nuttin but a gangsta party
And I'll make sure ain't a nigga survivin
Shoot up the ambulance, make sure it ain't a nigga there to revive him
And the Game ain't tryin to win, fuck the awards
So keep that little-ass horn, and that Neil Armstrong nigga

(Chorus)

(The Game)
Trust me dog, ain't shit you can put in your rap
that'll make you a gangsta, you a bitch and that's that
Niggaz thinkin I retired my Chuck, put the gun back in the holsters
Cause I weave through traffic in a roaster
But that don't stop the heater from bangin, or me comin through
Droppin all y'all niggaz with three in the chamber
Keep two mac-10's when I'm rollin, one in the changer
One when I push the button's right next to the cupholder
Dog we can get this shit over, I got ten on the Game
Let's say that Lee Harvey crack ya brain
Ain't gotta look over my shoulder, I'm good with the aim
Good with the handle and the bullet's good with the bloodstains
And the coroner's real good with that pickup
A1 good with the carpet cleaning, they can get the rest of that shit up
Cause I kill like the hiccups, two at a time
Put you niggaz next to each other how I do 'em in line

(Chorus)

(The Game)
Come through in a big boy, leave the bullshit at home
If beef cook then I'm bringin the chrome
If I die then I'm leavin a clone; but if I live
through the drama one mo' time then them boys gotta dig
When I think about who shot me, I listen to Big
When I'm rhymin on the road, I listen to Jig
Bump Nas off that purple, sittin on the block
And when I'm loadin up them clips, I listen to 'Pac
A semi with me like Eddie Murphy, got mo' guns
than F-A, B-O, L-O, U-S got jerseys
And you might get 'em all in the face when shit get thick
Make the back of your head look like Jerome Kearsey
And ain't nuttin to do a driveby in the hood
We ain't even got survival, but I'ma still take that ride
Bet my drink on it, bet my main squeeze mink on it
Think this shit a joke? Bet the S-5 pink on it

(Chorus)

(feat. Get Low Playaz & Young Noble)

[21 seconds of ad libs to open]

[Chorus: repeat 2X]
Exclusively, ridin on them deuces G
Talkin 'bout what your gameplan used to be
They got us choppin up game through the fog and smoke
We came a long way but still we got so far to go

[Verse One]
Yeah I know I got 4 to go, so with these bars I flow
At a pace for the papes I thank y'all should know
I lace it properly for property, it really ain't no stoppin me
And plus I'm tryin to get my money on like Monopoly
Politickin economy, if I could be a made nigga
Smokin on e'ry nigga, balled out paid nigga
Keepin it real, I'm still deep in the field
Deep with the skills for the bills
I got the million dollar mouthpiece with no gold grill
I bring the thrill like Will Clark
I will bust I will spark and flame in the booth
You blind you shoulda saw it when I came in the booth
I serve the thunder, that shit that'll brang in the roof

[Verse Two]
My niggaz, stack riches, mack bitches
Blow fast Swishers with my folks, act vicious with my folks
Sav livin with my vo-cals, Outlaw like my nigga No-ble
Fuckin bad bitches at the hotel
There's nothin to a boss, man we live it up
Smash for the cash and respect so when we mash niggaz give it up
I got no time for that fake shit
Jersey to the Bay niggaz thuggin even bitches thinkin they sick
So nigga basically the world is a ghetto
Play a nigga out his scratch, he gon' be twirled in a meadow
I keep it real with niggaz that be true to me
There's nothin you can do to me
My crew is deep and real niggaz rule the streets

[Chorus]

[Verse Three: The Game]
Lace your Timbs, polish your gators, we like odds in Vegas
You can't ball then it's probably the haters
Can't breathe then it's probably the desert, if you a gangster or not
I give a fuck dawg, bullets is hot
And every nigga gon' cry when he hit
The more pain the more blood drain, he ain't survivin shit
And your niggaz ain't gon' ride for shit, they know
If they came through everybody in the X-5 is hit
Red rag or blue rag, niggaz die for this
The Game the reason all these niggaz on that "Cali Love" shit
Compton niggaz get grimy too, pull you out of that 6
Fuck you up like one time'll do
And I dare y'all to stop on the 'Shaw, and King Boulevard
Pull it hard, Doogie Howser pullin bullets out your jaw
Turn your round trip into a one-way ticket
You can visit, but you can not lie and kick it

[Verse Four]
It's time for me to shine, life on the grind, life on the line
Feelin like I'm runnin out of time
It's now or never, chasin this cheddar 'til things get better
These streets got me hungry as ever
Can't stop can't change, young Sav stuck in the game
Everyday we gotta hustle and slang, struggle and strain
To bubble, weed plus the 'caine to juggle
Organize the brains and muscle

[Chorus]

[Verse Five]
You {?} like Sammy did Gotti, told 'em we kamikaze
Like those whiteboys ain't heedin the robbery
Told 'em we ride around in them cars on them big wheels
In the killing field makin 100 bills on the P-700 Pirelli wheels
Marshall Faulk in to ball again in this day to day scrimmage
'Bout the spinach this game is relentless where we livin
Niggaz'll 32 round ya, kick you on the ground
After they down ya, sneak ya and plot ya, Heckler & Koch ya
Got ya body bein scrutinized by a flock of doctors
Still an unsolved mystery, statistically, history
A Get Low nigga victory by fuckin with my credibility

(feat. Blue Chip)

(Intro/Chorus - sample)
-- Don't cry (5X) don't..
-- Don't cry (5X) don't..

(The Game)
Amayah wake up baby
I know you're sleepin, but daddy's home now
Pictures gettin old, my lil' girl lookin grown now
Your moms said you're talkin on your own, walkin on your own now
Run across the kitchen floor in them baby drawers
I sent you from off tour and I miss you when I was tourin
Smilin at them baby pictures, so happy, tears pourin
God how can somethin so beautiful come from me?
After the gunshots thought you was done with me
But I know I'm livin now, why you made me put the guns down
Pick up the mic, start rappin for a living now
My sun, my moon, my starts, my earth
My wind, my fire, my life, my bay-bay
Tryin to make your moms life ya must be crazy, fussin and fightin
I know she love me cause ya look just like me
Day you came into this world I was so excited
Eleven twenty-one double-zero, my baby girl is here

(Chorus)

(Blue Chip)
Yo, yo, you see this rap shit I do it for you
And the first time I heard your voice I prayed to God it had to be true
Got a son now, cuttin the game, stoppin the bullshit
Remember eyein your enemy, can you pull quick
Dipped out Cali, came back, snatched my son
my girl moms and I moved out Maui
Yeah your pops gone bananas, seen wild went hard
Bigger house, wider yard, nappy with the crash bar
Off that hersh', shit you stupid, you ain't no dad nigga
Takin your black ass to court for all you have nigga
You see me and your moms, that's another topic
Ain't no whip in this world with a price you can't cop it
Stop it, press rewind, you didn't hear me right
It's a lesson to the song, I'm tryin to steer you right
Just remember your father taught you to go hard or go home
Never sing that sad song, don't cry

(Chorus)

(The Game)
Huh daddy ain't gon' preach to you, I'ma let your moms school you
Don't let the streets fool you, streets'll do you, that's why I'm talkin to you

(Blue Chip)
Yeah, you see these niggaz out here, have you stressin by the hour
Never turn your back on your foes, them dudes cowards

(The Game)
Some days sweet, and some sour - but we gon' make it together
The world is ours, and you're my flower

(Blue Chip)
If it's ice you can get that, model chicks hit that
Never stress about the downfalls just 'bout the getback

(The Game)
And I ain't sayin sex is wrong, just make sure he strap a condom on
And never, ever do it in your mother's home

(Blue Chip)
Yeah, never call a girl a bitch, show respect, son pop ya collar
Ain't nothin free, scrape and lock every dollar

(The Game)
And I will leave you with this, my lil' angel, daddy loves you
How I'd die for you, cry for you, ride for you

(Blue Chip)
Yeah, switchin handles like you breakin a zone, candy paint Impala
On the Golden Bridge, bouncin on chrome

(Chorus)

(The Game)
Yeh this is killa Cali, live as a motherf**ker man
Niggaz hoppin of off LAX's
Can't wait to see the sunshine, the palm trees, the beautiful woman
I love it man, nineteen years and runnin', this is my home, feel me

(The Game)
Y'all must think it's all chips and championships in LA
I got niggaz from San Diego all the way to the Bay
E-40, Dre, Tash, Ras Kass
Quik, Cube, Kurupt, and Daz
Big Snoop, Xzibit, Nate Dogg, and Ren
Too $hort, B-Legit, The Click, and Mack 10
Big Solo, Kam, CJ Mack, and WC
Jayo Felony, Suge Knight, The Outlawz, and Warren G
Knoc'Turnal, Bad Azz, Goldie Loc, and Tray Dee
Short Khop, Big Face, MC Eiht, and Shock G
Ant Banks, Richie Rich, Eastwood, and Suga Free
Bigga Figga, B-Real, Cypress Hill, and Ice-T
Rick Rock, C-Bo, Battlecat, and Crooked I
Yukmouth, Sean T, Kokane, and Big Wy
San Quan, Second II None, and Soopafly
King T, Rappin 4-Tay, and All From The I
Dru Down, E-Swift, Baco, and Technique
Mac Mall, Dazi Bitch, Shaq and D.O.C.
Chico and Coolwadda, Tyrese and KD
Mailman, RBX, Shade Sheist, and Wy V
C & W, Chill, Hittman, and Hi-C
DJ Yella, I Flow, The Ganders, and Double D
Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E., The Farock, AMG
Ra Ra, H.O.P. and Butch Cassidy
All my fallen soldiers rest in peace
Along wit 2Pac, Mausberg and Eazy-E
Essays, Bloods, Crips and all the thugs
And all my killa cali niggaz stay given it up uh

Yeah if I left you out man holla at me, my bad it's all love

(feat. Blue Chip)

(The Game)
I'm from Compton where them guns bust, watch Poppa George pop
Cats tellin jokes at them car games
Seen big face hundreds, handle the rock like Nate Archibald
What? This nigga only sixteen
And I wanted to be, just like him, middle school fightin
Any nigga with a chip on his shoulder, whattup nigga?
You want beef with me? Now I let the heat speak for me
No more talkin, just outline chalkin
Nigga Witta Attitude from birth, "100 Miles and Running"
Gunnin bustin shots like fuck the cops
Notorious for burnin blocks, weavin in and out of traffic and chop
Game the young Robin Hood of the block
Steal from the rich, give to the poor, coward niggaz rock
Second comin of this black Alfred Hitchcock
Kick in the door, wavin the four-four
Ten shots to your spleen, let them violins sing

(Chorus: Blue Chip + (The Game))
Yo, I'm just a ghetto nigga stuck in this game, young'uns runnin with 'caine
Rain hits so we floodin the game
When you come to Compton respect the grounds, leave you shook man
(And I look good, from Compton to Brooklyn)
Hey yo I don't give a fuck who you are, fuck ya ice
Fuck the block that you claim, fuck your Bentley Azure
(Dead presidents is all I represent)
('Til y'all met me y'all niggaz ain't met gangsta yet)

(The Game)
Fast cars, money and muscle, the hustle I was brought up in the 80's
Gangbangin, dope traffic, shit get crazy
From where niggaz grow up hard like dicks raised
Them hustlin guns like Knicks players, we got mouths to feed
'Til they put flowers on me, moms kiss my cold cheek
In that pine box, I'm buyin rocks, eyein cops
Fuck a cell block, the young kid makin it happen
Who you think got them fiends runnin back like Bo Jackson?
I'm a gangsta, what else could I say?
I'm ahead of myself like it's Y4K
2Pac, Scarface, N.W.A.
Taught me how to dodge them bullets, keep my wig in play
Keep fo' snug in the waist or pay a thousand to have 'em
Niggaz in the street move faster than, Michael Jackson's album
But the shit don't really matter to me, we get better G
Bet the four slow 'em down like PCP

(Chorus)

(The Game)
Real gangsters never talk shit, handle they business
Fuck the dry snitchin and bitchin, niggaz die when them bullets fly
Who fuckin with him, ha? Not a nigga alive
End up dead in that 5
He got no sympathy for them dead guys, friend or foe
Watch that chest cave in, what that vest savin?
Make it sloppy for the autopsy, leave my enemies in a frenzy
On the frontlines holdin a 9
Everyday a new chapter, my own niggaz plottin on me
Tryin to hit me but they won't get me, feel the semi first
Fuckin with my dough, is the worst way to go
Y'all know, niggaz cry when them bullets burn slow dummy
In and out of spots watchin my money
If one dollar come up missin bodies start to come up missin
No one too heavy for the Expedition, piss on your corpse
Watch your soul shiver, throw him in the river, bitch nigga

(Chorus)

(The Game)

You can catch five, or catch me in the CL-5

Whatever way dog, the Game get live

Keepin it gangsta in a P.D. city velour

Late night I'm in Dublin's and I got myself a four

The hood love me, hoodrats gotta hug me

Pop ex, spark the buba, the shit get ugly

Rock the mic anywhere, and I ain't talkin 'bout a concert dog

Talkin 'bout ten niggaz in Converse dog

Get it crackin like we out in the yard, and the warden's watchin

Only difference is the whores is watchin

Still love to see a nigga, roll up on 20's

Hop in that six-four, roll up on Bentley's like

I'm a gangsta bay-bee, from the C-P-T

Run with the (Pound) like I'm from DPG

If it's beef, you C-Murder like it ain't No Limit

And I represent the P like Russell Simmons

(Chorus: repeat 2X)

I'm a neighborhood superstar, get it, right

Got it? Good, okay

It's the Black Sox and Get Low we get dough

In the Yay they pimp hoes, in Compton we six-fo'

(JT the Bigga Figga)

I know ya, love to watch me, 'specially when I'm lookin rocky

The trey with the broccoli with my handles on the Kawasaki

Handle my jewels with the cuff in my shoes

AD jacket on my elbow, 50 coast the jewels

In my neighborhood I'm Young Bill Gates, never shuffle the cake

So cover my face, and run up in the place

I'm a superstar, dick and my chain, glass bezel and bang

80 karats on my pinky and rang

Crews buzz when you speakin my name, cause I'm deep in the game

With top cool thangs and million dollar planes

I'm a maniac, young boy gone, like a young Roy Jones

You ought of my zone and ain't nobody home

In my neighborhood, produce stars, stakes is high

Now we soarin through the spacious skies

Drop yo' body with them cakes and ride, the handle is up

Switchin gears with the pedal and ride

(Chorus)

(The Game)

I'm a shining star

And I gotta hit the boulevard in that new Jaguar

Why he move through traffic like that, purple haze

Ralways, the Ojays, the gangsta lean so

Please believe that I keep two G's in my jeans

Two gats in my sleeve, two rats in my Beam'

X-5, mami let's ride

Weave in and out of traffic from Compton to Bed-Stuy

It's the kid from the far West I, oh, shit

He know how to do more than flip pies

Get money like them stick up guys

Them "Ocean 11" licks got the young kid rich for life

And I talkin 'bout a movie or George Clooney

I'm talkin 'bout, runnin in your spots with uzis tucked in the Coogi

Dude me? Naw truly, might lose your lives

They say I've, got 2K2 covered like A.I.

(Chorus)

(JT)

Yeah mayne, I told y'all mayne

Fillmoe California nigga where we launch the best nigga

JT the Bigga Figga, San Quinn, D-Moe the Yungsta, Seff the Gaffla

Introducin the Game

Nigga the first nigga I went and got outside of the Fillmoe district

Y'knahmtalkinbout? Yeah mayne

And we gon' pass him on off to Aftermath Records mayne

So they can take him to the T-O-P

Y'knahmtalkinbout Dr. Dre and the whole Aftermath staff, y'knahmtalkinbout?

But this album right here, this a Get Low, JT the Bigga Figga production

My nigga Charlie-O on the beat, y'knahmtalkinbout?

And we keepin it real thuggish mayne, Bay Area style nigga

Black Wall Street, now let's get MONEY!

(feat. San Quinn)

(20 second instrumental to open)

(San Quinn)
Drama is real, like not wakin up
I'm breakin up grounds when this patriot thrust
Your mouth is on shut, your emotions are hidden
For you to handle your business, you are more than driven
If you kill it no more standin on that corner like a stop sign
Everytime you spotted they call it shot time
Not at the gym but in the grim reaper's hands
You important if a bullet hits, injure your plans
This is not an adventure, but a full-time duty
If you seen how niggaz hit the club, they pullin out uzis
Sometimes bruisin and grazin, mostly takin
No more sleep for the shooter, no more of that hangin
No mo' trustin hoes you ain't know fo' ten plus
No mo' smokin with the homies, no mo' late night clubs
Cause the victim, is ready to stick him like a mousetrap
I'm 'bout to rap, you better be 'bout peepin out cash

(Chorus: The Game)
If there's blood on my Nikes I done murdered a nigga
If the stash spot smokin I done murdered a nigga
San Quinn got a hurt for the nigga, it get worser for niggaz
We take this beef shit further than niggaz
Streets are shady, the Game got curtains for niggaz
All-of-a-sudden-ass killers never heard of these niggaz
Have your whole family cryin a river, we'll murder you niggaz
We take this beef shit personal nigga

(The Game)
I ain't met a nigga yet could fuck with this rap vet
I'm the realest since I came in the game on Kam back
Rest in peace to Mausberg, gotta live with that
Keep the M2 on my hip, I live with that
Eat with that, sleep with that, come get me
Four-fifty put somethin through your son Easter basket
Six in your truck, get you each a casket
Put termites in your box let 'em eat your cabbage
A wife right here, see if she can weave through traffic
Everybody gotta die, when the beef is active
If you know Game, you know I'll never give free passes
But I give choices, how you want it, metal or plastic
Life is real, pedal to traffic, no spots on my tail
Cops on the payroll so me and Quinn live well
And I can still get a nigga the hill, your bitch as well
Shotgun got mo' punks than shells

(Chorus)

(The Game)
See the Escalade got 'em runnin downhill, snowball niggaz
We throw vapors out of truck windows, blow our figures
Suede corners out the sunroof, the fifth or the Ruger
Broad daylight, blow the windows out of your Cougar
Move in the S5, plus my, leather dust fly
Spark up a dutch, Game put niggaz in a coffin too much
Turn niggaz kids into orphans too much, In God We Trust - nah
Keep the fifth close like Starsky & Hutch
Your daughter cryin it's just {?} tuck, but so what
Blow the dutch, southpaw bust out your whole fronts
Have you eatin soup for months, broken jaw, lick your shit out of straws
I guess I got that same ol' harm
I ain't for play, the Game is raw
Specialize in death jackets, here try these bullets on
And next time have all my cheese cause if you owe me
Guns O-U-T, we all gon' squeeze

(Chorus)

(20 second instrumental to open)

(The Game)
Who really the best rapper since 'Pac got killed
I done answered that question when I copped my deal
Ask yourself when the Game is comin, after next summer
I predict my shit'll drop before the next Howard homecoming
Now who in the runnin, no one, ask the niggaz who want it
I got a four-fifth and it just like me, it stay gunnin
Me and my niggaz stay blunted fogged up in the 600
Guilty as charged, blunts in the air, guns in the doors
It's written, Compton niggaz never run from the law
Plus we get Monopoly money with hotels and a board
So I'll never see a jail, and I'm allergic to bars
Can't sit behind 'em or drink at 'em, so we travel with ours
Poppin Crist' in the 6, like we drivin through Mardi Gras
Thinkin 'bout beads and titties as I roll through the city
And I keep 16 in the clip, and I let 'em all go
like the Lakers did Ellie, Atty and Nick, huh

(Chorus)
When shit get thick, niggaz start dyin
Bodies pop up in dumpsters, mothers start cryin
Payback come through violent, nigga
We hit blocks, bust shots, leave ya whole block silent, cause
When shit get thick, niggaz start dyin
Bodies pop up in dumpsters, mothers start cryin
Payback come through violent, nigga
We hit blocks, bust shots, leave ya whole block silent

(Sean T)
No garbage we smoke molta, move big cocoa
We off the train tracks like the great space coaster
We hit real big and consistant like Sam Sosa
Prepare for war, like United States soldiers
Lock tight and rock right like grey eight oz's
I'll be hittin up spots, in them flip Range Rovers
Before you even try to play, foolish all over
Empty out yo' pockets, turn everything over
We ball out cursin yeah we keep it the sickest
When we roll by the quads in them Z-66's
Big spittin, grip kitten, that big face greed
Always dirty never clean but we live like kings
Legendary like Sting, it's a history to follow
But not known for stingin known for gettin off hollows
Shoot me a glass of Remy, nah f**k it the whole bottle
And watch me act bad and take off, full throttle

(Chorus)

(JT the Bigga Figga)
I'm from a batch where it ain't no cut, we all in
36 on a triple beam scale for meal
Duffle bag on my shoulder my route, through the back of the jet
To bag up baguettes and everybody know it
I'm the iceholder makin the cut, never breakin 'em up
My favorite color is rainbowed up
Ain't a coke dealer, but I got bricks for cheap
Hit the lab for a fo' day block, we got heat
You niggaz can't compete when I walk in the streets
We Get Low, and there's no idea with the info
It's a rule of thumb, let them dudes a come
I'm cruisin some, 20 inch shoes and some
I'm in the widebody XM-5, all my snakes is live
We check your five, the spot where the tec dies
And everybody gotta holla the name
It's JT from the Fillmoe streets to CPT

Uhh, uhh, gangsta gangsta yeah
Uhh, uhh, it's gangsta gangsta yeah
Uhh, uhh, shit I'm livin gangsta gangsta shit
Yeah

(Chorus: repeat 2X)
I'm from Compton, Compton, Murderville
You heard these niggaz is gangsters, and they kill
Rob and steal, my niggaz will peel at will
For real they real, niggaz gon' feel this steel

(The Game)
Walk with me through the ghetto where the packs get sold
And them niggaz sellin the work ain't half as old
as the fiends and the hippies, same ones smokin since the 60's
Everybody yellin gimme, gimme
Every nigga in the hood, one hand on his jimmy
Other hand grip the semi, c'mon walk with me
Every ten houses, one got 'caine for sale
And I give you a dope track like my name Phar-rell
And you can get that stainless steel
Walk in my Chuck Taylors for a day, if you think it ain't f'real
When I buy rocks homey baguettes on my ring
And only neighborhood watch is my Tecno Marine
Keep a (Mac) on the block, I ain't talkin 'bout Beans
QB in the hood and I'm far from Queens
The boys in the hood is always hard
So come through and get smoked like a Cuban cigar

(Chorus)

(The Game)
I'm from Compton, Compton, a block from hell
And you can come get a bird for eleven
And we ain't got a penny for the reverand, a dime for a witness
Only (Church's) in the hood sell chicken (ba-KAW)
Every nigga in the hood sell chickens move work like city buses
You fuckin with the Hub City Hustler
The vans on the block won't touch us, the streets my home
So I move weight on the block like I'm Moses Malone
Bring the guns anywhere I roam, go with the chrome
And I hit all my shots, like I'm in the A.I. zone
And mob like Al Capone through N.W.A.'s home
Homes like Ed Jones will cripple your team up
In the home of Dr. Dre, Venus and Serena
Where 14-year-olds pack ninas and drive Beamers
We ball up subpeonas, take niggaz to the cleaners
And you know what I'm talkin about if y'all seen where..

(Chorus)

(The Game)
We drug dealin, but niggaz is squealin (fuck you rats)
What more can I say, just kill 'em
Fuck 'em, the gun bust 'em, we just knock on wood
Now is this under-stooooooood?
I mostly George when I whip, my supply is good
The man behind the bricks, I'm supplyin the hood
Catch bodies like Pistol Pete passes on the wood
Benz parked by the fence, brick stashed in the hood
Top work by the inch, I bag it, it's gone
Ask Quik, we rock more than microphones
Some niggaz ball, some niggaz do what we do
And other niggaz sing for Cash Money like TQ
The block will heat and sink you (hey dude)
Cali ain't all palm trees, purple haze and sea dude
Lose your life tryin to get these jewels
I keep the 40 cal wrapped in chrome like R2-D2

(Chorus)

(Verse one)
f**k it
yo
who the best mc on the west? by far its me
and in my car is a continental tea
and my broad in that continental suite
with the armadell rollin up dutches like that motherf**kers
beef with the kid click-clack motherf**kers
let them bullets burn your six pack motherf**kers
get jacked motherf**ker when you come to compton
get a mack motherf**ker when you come to compton
i walk through times square holdin my johnson
a cross style make a jada make a run threw yonkers
i got d-blocks like the locks
and these glocks like to pop
and n**** i like your watch
so roll over you can die with the jury
first n**** take the stand to testify he gunna die with the jury
and i might kidnap the judge or send a team to lean on you so the D.A budge
i got n****** that'll ride for a grand so handover my rock
or like earl manson you can die where you stand or you can die with your man
i'll let you jog for about 30 seconds then you gunned down

(chorus 2x)
you know this gl shit we got g's on the line or g's on the squad all week on the grind
and if you doubt that step up 'cause we aint hard to find
street kings in our prime you want us then come and try us

(verse two)
ima take it to the next
take it to a motherf**kin neck
pull up on a n***** holdin triggers n tecks
we droppin square beads
you easy to read
this is the end of the road for whole ass mc's
smoke grass by the pound
glock holds 17 rounds
and the flow'll knock any n**** down
rap you like a burrito come threw and kill you and your people
tell them that i shitted on you n*****
like i was a flock a seagulls
infared beam like a traffic jam at night
handle any man in sight
with his hands upon a mic
wanna light i got the torch
im the best california a north
for any n***** puttin flamed on a porche
and never drive on
bitch your gunna die on
san quinn for and five catch a live one
bust shots at the clouds
so we can shine some
get up off ur ass
and n**** and grind some

(chorus)

flash f**kers on the tip of the gat
you can put on flat but ill kill that
ill open u up like a mat
even if u heard'at i squirted and murdered a man
and these new school n***** talk like we heard of them plans
two two millimeters got up up in your man
gettin off on you n***** and your mini-mans
only thing runnin is blood n***** so gimme a grand
so we will bust your head n**** straight through your hand
or get off in yo ass n**** like jackie chan
and when its all said and done it's a one will stand
gunnin this motorbike feelin this power man
185 miles per hour man
i stay cooralatin with the taliban
i show up (show up, show up, show up, show up)

n***** talk about money they forgot the struggle
try to paint a perfect picture they forgot the hustle
pieces of a puzzle
guzzlin pints watchin the moonlight
in the sun light
more gun fights
penetentary fly three kites
ive seen more pussys turn to mics than mices turn to man
so n***** take the stand get stomped by another mans hand
got me naughious in my abdomin
got me servin grams again
grams rapped in rubber bands
22's on them rubbers man
slow rollin dro blowin im gettin rich you see my fro growin ho's knowin i pimp them to the fullest
respect a gangsta you can shoot but i eat to the bullets
i shit missles
eyeballs look like crystals
my shits official
its your man motion man and merifrista

yo yo yo yo
its luke and everything i sit on fat
n***** be like oh shit how a n**** shit on that?
y'all see a n**** grit on tracks
f**k with the red beam
get a n**** hit on that
f**k with the real thing not the 760
the reason that they took the fair team to get me
you dont want it with my dogs
you got teeni guys
i mean itsy bitsy little tiny weeni guys
i done seen them guys
bought as big as my gats
and aint even got enough strength to pull on that
you want real hard core shit i be on that
cop the xlt u put threes on that
put cheese on hats
when luchi goes n squeeze on gats
and leave these on flats
g's messin low they got g's on that
and have your momma outside screamin please dont clap

(chorus)

(Chorus: The Game + JT)
Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay, our chains hang, L.A. they can't bang
Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In L.A. they havin problems, the Bay we pop collars
Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay we pop hollows, L.A. they pop hollows
Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay we pop bottles, L.A. they pop bottles

(JT the Bigga Figga)
They can't cop what the bricks'll cost
But we stay in the lane to maintain in the 6 to floss
Leather gloves with the tips to toss
But the money was made from conversation had to clip the boss
Smash down at the V.I.P.
Street smarts is crucial for young niggaz in the CX-3
Drop Jag with the price to pay
Cause the bags was heavy my chain swangin like a ice capade
Got the feds lookin twice this way
Cause we shuffle the P's in different places that the {?} name
Compton to Fillmoe man the game is real
When you turn 15 get your stainless steel
Whole squad been trained to kill, we official
And switch to get rich now we after the meals
Hard times got cakes for 3
When it's havin a bundle we break bread for the safe and flee nigga

(Chorus)

(The Game)
I got guns, guns, guns, guns
Guns all over the club
We in V.I.P. strapped, security know that
25 deep, guns up under the throwback
That new R. Kelly shit sound like Bobby Womack
Black Wall Street in HURR, nigga where the hoes at
We got sour diesel, three cases of Hypnotiq
And more guns than the Nickerson Projects
Niggaz don't want beef with me
Cause they know they gotta pay for talkin shit but the sheets is free
And ain't nuttin to shoot the club up
You don't want drama in this motherf**ker throw them dubs up
Jacob got the wrists on chill
And N.W.A. chain glow like the memory of Ill Will
Relax your mind and let your drawers feel free
You're now rollin to the sound of the Game and JT

(Chorus)

(JT the Bigga Figga)
But you can't come with the rest of her friends
Cause you know I'm a boss and won't play cause she short on my ends
Make rounds from the back of the Benz
With the {?} that kid with frog eyes with the corners to bend
The things we go through I'm beatin ya brains
Got some homies next do' and I picked up the Game
While they knockin on the do' I get deep in ya dame
Gotta charge you a G just for speakin my name

(The Game)
I'm not eatin your chocha or payin for the coach ma
I'm a pimp like 50, the nigga to leave you broke ma
6 in the mornin, you stretchin on the sofa
Singin "Ain't No Nigga" like Foxy Brown and Hova
I f**k 'em dogstyle with Billys and Novas
With or without chaffeurs, I make 'em f**k the both of us
You know what it is, the gangster's back
And I keep my banger at where my chain hang at
I'm ghetto

(Chorus) - 2X

Father you give us power to speak the word fatherYou sayWe have but to ask with a sincere heart and it will beSo we thank you for this spoken word fatherYou say that when one or more come together in your name your presents will be feltSo we now only ask to feel your presents we need to feel your presents fatherWe thank you for the blessings you have given us this dayThings that people don?t even realize that are blessingsThe food you have given us to eatThe cars you have given us to driveThe cloths you have given us to wearThe money you have given us to spend
The lives you have allowed us to touchAnd the lives that have touched our own We thank you for all these things father in the name of jesusWe thank you again for the power of the spoken wordI pray that by the end of this day this word which is your word coming through my mouthWill touch someoneAnd save someone?s lifeIn jesus mighty name I prayAmen amen