(Intro)
Somebody better tell these n***as N.W.A is back..
Yo, Whoo Kid let 'em know!
Eazy has just left the building..

(Verse)
What happened to that boy?
He ran with the wrong gang
Fucked up in the hood, brought fiends the wrong cane
N.W.A n***a..yeah Compton still crooked
Make n***as fly off them ropes like Jimmy Fly Snuka
Your Neighborhood pusher..and I got them clips
Streets is talking, ''Game got shot by crips!''
It's okay, the kid catch bullets like Tim Brown
And your right back in the field with the rock like Jim Brown
The young gun..Not Memphis Bleek
The protege of Doc Dre with them bricks for cheap
I hustle in the C.P.T. where they play for keeps
No money in the dice game n***a, we play for pinks
And the kid got a 6-8 game like T-Mack
With N.W.A on his neck like Eazy-E back
And the desert eagle bang like a D-R-E track
So try to ball and get left with Pat Ewing kneecaps
I'm gangsta like tan khakis and air max
Chuck Taylors and Evisu jeans
The kid gotta raw flow..N***as think he from Queens
I love rap..but Dre I gotta please the fiends!
Plus my daughter need some things, So I got Roc in Philly like Freeway, Chris, Neef and Beans
I got birds in Boston, but I ain't on no dream team
I'm on the block in a McLaren that's chronic leaf green
And I run with the A-Team, do my doc dre thing
I retire you in that 6th like Docter J's team
And I'm still gangbanging..
Tan khaki suit, red rag in my back pocket, N.W.A chain hanging
Leave your brains hanging for less than a dollar
So if you ain't got a vest better holla
We got those impalas, new handguns and yay for sale
Give you a dope track so you ain't gotta pay Pharrell
And I ain't never spent a day in jail
But I move weight like whales
On Rosecrans with a 8th on the scale
So you ain't gotta ask Dre..if I bang in Compton
Just know, when I'm cuffed I'm going straight to the gang module
In county blue C-B-P on my neck
And walk the main line with AT&T on my chest
The kid hit the streets, he in a vest
Wit a hoodrat from Compton wit a tattoo of Eazy-E on her breast
She gon' ride, it don't matter homies or cold D's
Hands up, that revolver spin like gold D's
And you ain't gotta know The Game to know he from Compton
And our motto is fuck the police, holla!
(Outro)
Yeah
Aftermath n***a, '03 and after that
We running this rap shit
Be concerned
It's The Game
Aka Chuck Taylor
I'm coming n***a, a hundnid miles and running
You know I got to holla at my n***a D-Mack
The black George Clooney
It's our turn n***a
Whoo Kid
I told you they weren't ready dawg
'03, Aftermath, who fuckin' with us?