[Intro: The Game & Sample]
This is music murdered by
Dre, I see dead people
Yo, Dre
Thought I was dead
West Coast

[Verse 1: The Game]
I'm the Doctor's Advocate, n***a, Dre shot ya
Brought me back from the dead
That's why they call him the doctor
The 'Math gon' drop him
And 50 ain't rocking with him no more
It's okay! I get it popping
Whole club rocking, like a six-four Impala
Drink Cris', throw it up, call the shit hydraulics
Then piss in the cup, call the shit Hpnotiq (Brrrrat)
I bleed Compton, spit crack and shit chronic
And you new n***as ain't shit but new n***as
Bathing Ape-shoe n***as, I'm talking to you, n***as
Bouncing in the '64, throwing up West side, man
Sell another 5 million albums? Yes, I am
Fresh like "Damn, this n***a did it again
A hundred thousand on his neck, L.A. above the brim"
Insidе the Lambo shotgun with Snoop
What would the muthafuckin' West Coast bе
Without one crip and
[Verse 2: The Game]
I'm from the Westside of the six-four Impala
Where n***as say "Where you from?"
We don't never say "Harlem"
Bandanna on the right side, gun on the left side
N***as in New York know how to throw up the Westside
Word to Eazy, I'm so ill, believe me
I made room for Jeezy
But the rest of you n***as better be glad you breathing
All I need is one reason
I'm the king, and Dre said it: the West Coast need me
I don't know why you n***as keep trying me
Everybody know that I'm the heir to the Aftermath dynasty
And I ain't gotta make shit for the club
What DJ gon' turn down the thirty-eight snub?
You 38 and you still rapping? Ughhh
I'm 26, n***a, so is the dubs
On the '07 Hummer, hop out, no bodyguards
When the chronic smoke clear all you gon' see is

[Verse 3: The Game]
I ain't got beef with 50, no beef with Jay
What's beef when you getting head in the six-trey?
And the double Game chain, I keep 'em on display
Black T-shirt, so all you see is the A
Turn on the TV, and all you see is the A
You n***as better make up a dance and try to get radio play
Keep on snapping your fingers, I ain't going away
I don't regret what I spit, 'cause I know what I say
And n***as talking about me, they don't know when to stop
I got the Louis Vuitton belt buckle holding the Glock
No beam, no silencer; I know when to pop
Wait 'til Lil Jon come on and let off a shot
I had the number one Billboard spot
N***as stepped on my fingers, and I climb right back to the top
I'm B.I.G., I'm Cube, I'm Nas, I'm Pac
This ain't shit but a warning 'til my album drop