A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #

The Game


[Intro: Boyz n the Hood (1991)]
Doughboy: sh*t! Rick! Come on, man!
Tre: Ricky!
Help me! Help me! Somebody, help me!
Ricky, Ricky!

[Verse 1: The Game]
Blood of a slave, heart of a giant
Had to leave Aftermath, Dre said I was too defiant
That was five years ago, look how fast it go
Destroyin' Interscope, shot myself like Plaxico
But f*ck that, blaze one, where the matches, yo?
Hit the freeway and see how fast the Aston go
Roll the window down, clip off the ashes so
You can see all my diamonds and how much cash I blow
How many b*tches I f*ck, how many cars I drive
How many goons I got, count 'em and they all outside
n*ggas try to shut me up like Malcom
But standin' in the window K smokin' was the outcome
Sometimes I get a little stressed and pop a Valium
Hit Hollywood late night and knock down a stallion
So n*ggas think twice 'bout my medallion or
You'll hear Cuba Gooding yelling "Ricky!"
My nostalgia is a hunnid percent Compton, zero percent snitch
Park a Bentley and the Phantom on blocks where I used to pitch
Made the Cincinnati fitted more famous than Griffey did
And just to think, several years ago they tried to split his wig
Two to the chest, struck his heart, one hit his rib
Then I blacked out, like a movie, all I could hear

[Interlude: Boyz n the Hood (1991)]
Come on, let's get 'em, let's get em
Get 'em, man, get 'em
Cut him off, pull right here, cut him off
Go, man, go

[Verse 2: The Game]
Feelin' all f*cked up, woke up to a doctor
All I could think about was if the cops took my weed and my choppers
They want me to sing like Sinatra,
I told the detective get this clear like Belvedere vodka
Them five that shots then created a monster
Hell's Kitchen comin' straight out of Compton
I seen Boyz n the Hood, Morris Chestnut was a actor
2Pac was the real life "Ricky!"
Then they shot down the n*gga that shot him, swear to God
If I'm lying then Compton is New York and I'm Rakim
I'm from where n*ggas get murdered over stock rims
And punched in the jaw just for a c*cked brim
Nobody mama let the cops in, we ain't got no options
Wanted to be a boxer, but I was boxed in
Then my grandmother house went up for auction
And that's what what killed her, I'm goin' back to buy the block then
Too many n*ggas locked in, dig up Cochran
And defend all my n*ggas ith they face under stockings
Rather face God than 25 with no options
If Compton ain't the murder capital, we in the top ten
Drive by with our face painted, like a clown
With a tre-pound, forty shells bouncin' off the ground
This how my livin' room sound, when my brother got shot down

(Crying (sample from Boyz n the Hood))

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #

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