[Intro: Germ Ghee]
Soo woo, n***a what? [x3]

[Verse 2: The Game]
It's the Lord of the Dead, Patron shots to the head
Heard Dr. Dre's daughter tryna get some street cred
Muthafucka I got it, if I pulled it, I shot it
And Blood faker than Don Cheadle in "Colors" playing Rocket
Who you think you foolin' Cuz? You ain't never shot shit
Andre Young's bitch stay riding Pac's dick yeah
G. Malone, tell Blood to run along
'Fore his non-gang affiliated ass meet the chrome
Yeah, I respect the n***a Spyda more than you
Cause at least if I see Cuz I know he gon' shoot
And I'ma shoot back, on my Piru tat
Jim Jones and Lil Weezy, I SooWoo that
Red rags in New York, red rags in Boston
If I die today bitch it'd be a red rag coffin
I respect no one but your gun
So pull it, cock it and tell Dre I'm on one

[Verse 2: Germ Ghee]
And get a call from the big homie n***a you dead
I'll put a 50 cent sized hole in back of your head
Let the nina full of hollow tips put you to bed
The Black Wall Street goon squad, over here's red
Run up on him for the bread, the ski mask way
Started listening to LAX flyin away
Guess it's all entertainment at the end of the day
Cause on some real shit, they don't really wanna die today
I'll do my homework, find out your hide-away
Then cross a n***a over like Tim Hardaway
Boyz in tha Hood, he'll get shot with the A.K
Make em fill like they're in Iraq right now today
Sweat bleeding under the sun, bitch I ain't the one
Public enemy, n***a my uzi weighs a ton
I'm from B town, n***as get money where I'm from
Gang bangin heavy dawg, stay strapped where I'm from
The more money I count, the more haters I get
The more beef let it come, the more hammers I grip
The more slicks for the white, the more I'm floodin the strip
Germ Ghee keep it gangsta and shit, you know me huh? yeah
Soo woo n***a what?
Soo woo n***a what?