[Intro: DJ Quik]
Compton's in the motherfuckin' house
Look

[Verse 1: DJ Quik & Busta Rhymes]
Now Busta-Bust he like the David Blane of hip-hop (Come here just watch)
And X to the Z, a backpacker, y'all n***as stop (Yo, yo)
We asphalt, not clay, not dust (Yo)
I put my money where my mouth is, y'all just trust (Ooh)
This a real game, motherfuckers, and I'm playing this well (Yeah)
I'm an analog, you a hologram, you ain't that real (Yo, yo)
You ain't the truth, you ain't even know how to begin
The real fly game swatter, you can't win
I've been PI since I was knee-high (Yup)
Spending money since 4 years old
Let the truth be told (Yo, yo)
Y'all proof, pull the sunroof
When I bubble, it's an overflow
Left and right wrist like overload
Now I'm 5'4" n***a (Vroom), double R right
I'm rough on the boulevard (Yeah), I do it hard (Yo, yo) even with a hit on my head
I still shine, spit on the red
I'm fly, n***a, 'til I'm bred and I'm dead, yeah

[Chorus: Busta Rhymes]
So tell 'em welcome back to one of these
N***as know that they fucking around with real Gs
Who you think you are?
Bass heavy all in my truck
That be the gangster shit, I stay banging up in my car
Shot the front n***a, you fuck around and just make a n***a cock up and I clap up the broom
Act dumb and you can be one of the young n***as that your peeps be saying "Die too soon"
Ayo (Flipmode n***a)
[Verse 2: Busta Rhymes]
When I step up in the club bitches trying to hug me
So sick baby mothers still trying to fuck me
See, we move past diesel like we stocking the [?]
I'm the nicest in this bitch, swamp cocky as fuck
Fuck rap, a lot of drug money stacking insane
Compton got a couple bricks from quick and gain
Thought a stomp and couple clicks to you n***as is lame
Like you could fuck with Aftermath, bitch I'll weaken your frame
Then I pumped y'all n***as bladder 'til we watching your piece build
Blood mixture killing n***as at free will
I say thou shit too immoral my brother
Throwing a bachelor party for my homie fucking your mother
So married to the game, bitch, whenever we build
My n***a Game, he like to spaz, I try to tell him to chill
Fuck you, see my goons will rush your resident fast
No matter how much dough you got, we whip the president ass
Break a bottle, cut your jugular, you n***as is dead

[Chorus: Busta Rhymes]
So tell 'em welcome back to one of these
N***as know that they fucking around with real Gs
Who you think you are?
Bass heavy all in my truck
That be the gangster shit, I stay banging up in my car
Shot the front n***a, you fuck around and just make a n***a cock up and I clap up the broom
Act dumb and you can be one of the young n***as that your peeps be saying "Die too soon"
Flipmode
[Verse 3: The Game]
I don't do much, sit on the block in that Lavender Range
Waitin' for fiends, pass 'em the Caine
Y'all n***as is lame
Y'all don't really want beef with The Game, give 'em 100 thou, ease his pain
You don't ride through the hood
Motherfucker, that ain't your Navy 6
All you do is drive Jay-Z shit
N***a you ain't hardcore
N***a you ain't never won no award, only stood behind Dame when he was thanking the lord, you a fag
N***a you know your rhymes ain't ill and State Property the closest you ever been to a mill, you ain't hot
With that wack ass album you drop
The whole Roc know Beans came and take your spot, you a joke
Tax write off for Russell and Hov, why you think they keep you around when you only went gold
Whoo Kid, let 'em know who put the B-I in bitch faggot couldn't sell a record with T.I. and Trick Daddy
N***a talkin' that shit, I crush him and this ain't got nuttin' to do with Quik and Busta