LYRICS
作曲 : Pope, Taylor
Walking down the street in my All Stars
In my khaki suit doin what I do
Walking down the street smoking chronic
In my black locs lookin at you
Guess who's back on the West coast tracks
It's the ****ing messiah of gangsta rap
Still dip in the six-fo' still puffin on the same chronic
Haters mad cause I still got it
I never fall off even without the Doc
You ****ing sellin your soul trying to stay on top
Bitch ass, check your Kotex
You ain't moving shit like the hand on a fake-ass Rolex
I'm five million sold
The cover of my last album the only time you see me sittin on gold
I'm the most anticipated most celebrated
Most loved and the ****ing most hated
Keep rolling like gold Daytons
They got the game ****ed up like Hennessy with a Coke chaser
You gotta deal with me I'm the West Coast savior
****** think of me every time they six-fo' scraper
What do you call a mother****er who's overbearing
Belligerent foul defiant and very disrespectful
You call that mother****er the Doctor's Advocate
He's a reflection of Dr Dre in his heyday in the worst way
The five star surgeon general
Took Jayceon to the Aftermath research department
And gave him a blood test
It came back G-A-M-E positive
The bitch's infected with the Game virus
His oratorical skills are so impeccable
That mother****er in the streets call him Cyrus
The young damu's down with violence
Cause in his heart he's a tyrant
It's not a game it's just called The Game
There'll be no referees no halftime reports
When the game is over The Game is over
You can't put a quarter in the machine and get three mo' men
THAT'S the end
Walking down the street in my All Stars
In my khaki suit doin what I do
Walking down the street smoking chronic
In my black locs lookin at you
I done been to hell and back
Left for dead you know who to thank for that
Finished my second LP without a Dr Dre track
You can take my soul but can't take my plaques
I'm the baddest mother****ing snare when it touch the bea
I'm the 808 drum that got you movin your feet
I'm the heir to the throne after the D-R-E
Product of my environment, you old-ass nigga
Get ready for your early retirement
Before I let hip-hop burn down I run in the building like a fireman
Who can outspit me when I'm high off sticky
Throwing back Patron shots in some creased up Dickies
I'm D O C certified Ice Cube lynch'd me
Snoop stamped me and the good Doc handpicked me
You still with me
Me and my mic can't be separated like Interscope and - hahaha
Ohhh shit
This some good ass ****ing shit
California sticky green
This is the aftermath for the Aftermath
West coast