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The Game - The Documentary 2.5 Album Lyrics



The Game - The Documentary 2.5 Lyrics






New York Skit

Yo Game, you don't really tell that story about what happened to you and 50 huh?
Nah man, that's been so long, f*ck that shit
Yeah, sometimes it's best to leave the past in the past
But y'all was such a good team, man, why don't you tell me?

Yeah, so basically, 50 was on Hot 97 and shit
With Olivia, Lloyd Banks and Young Buck and shit doing an interview
And that's time when I was kicked out of G-Unit and that was news to me and shit
'Cause you know, that shit was uh, like
That shit just caught a nigga off guard
And I think he was kinda hot 'cause I did a interview with Funk Flex a few days before that
Where I was talkin' 'bout, you know, his beef with Fat Joe and, and Nas and The Lox and shit
And I was like, you know, I grew up, you know what I'm saying, on, on Nas and shit
And I wrote, you know what I'm saying, I f*ck with The Lox and shit
And Joe always showed me love when I come to New York
So I was like, you know, shit
I mean, I can't just stop f*cking with niggas I've been listening to my whole life
'Cause this nigga mad at them niggas for the time being
So, um, he was hot, but anyway, them niggas on the radio, I got hot
So you know at that time, I was in New York with 70 bloods nigga
So we went to the radio station and shit, um, hopped in a bunch of yellow cabs and shit
Hopped out them motherf*ckers and we walked up to Hot 97
Before we could get to the door G-Unit security was already coming out and shit
So them niggas pull out guns, so my little nigga Peanut pull out a gun and start bustin' shots in the air
So them niggas start bustin' shots, we start bustin' shots
Niggas runnin' in the snow but we got on f*ckin' Converse
And niggas is slippin' and fallin', you know what I'm saying
And then, uh, f*ckin' I think Jers got hit, Peanut got hit (ayy, I think they shot Peanut, Blood)
And Jers thought he was hit cause we hopped in the mo'f*ckin suburban and shit
And Jers had f*ckin' bullet holes in his North Face and shit
He was motherf*ckin' whinin' and shit
I'm shot, nigga I'm shot
And shit, and I'm like, nigga you ain't shot you just got holes in your jacket
We went back to the W next morning, I got on a flight
Came back to LA, did 300 bars, and that was it (yeah)

Yeah, I remember that, you shocked the world with that one, bruh
F*ck it, man this light taking long as a motherf*cker
Yeah, man, that's crazy man
That's how a lot people be gettin' shot out here too, 'cause long ass lights

Ayy, what's happenin' cuh?
What's happenin'
Oh, haha, niggas out here slippin'
Shit
Y'all niggas lost or somethin', homie?
Nah, we know where the f*ck we at, nigga
Oh, oh so niggas pulling out choppers now?
Yeah
Oh yeah, that shit cute
Yeah
Don't worry 'bout it cuh, I know where them niggas gon' be at
We'll get them niggas later
Gas it cuh

See, that's what the f*ck I be talkin' 'bout homie
Can't get away from this shit
Shit is everywhere
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Jayceon Terrell Taylor
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.




Magnus Carlsen

Tie on a bandana, then we lay him out
Fighting over two colours in the crayon box
It's no love
It's no love
40 ounces in my cup, I'm po'd up
We out here killing each other, but so what?
Keep it up and there's gon' be no Crips and no Bloods
Nigga take a look around, the crack game has slowed up
The government versus the people, now tell me
Who rules the world with only one desire?
I don't believe there's anything higher
Rather get it now than to read about the outcome
I'd rather have the crown, than a ribbon or medallion
And oh my days, I guess it's okay
If I lay up in the shade with my [?] in the mattress
But be at the course if I have to use patience
I'm shooting a premature dream in the napkin
Battling the evils in the flesh that I'm wrapped in
Waiting for my eagle, but the seagulls are distracting

What's happening, niggas? Mm
What's happening? Hm
What's happening?
What's happening? Mm
What's happening?
Mm, yeah

What's happening? My nigga just died from Aids
What's happening? ISIS throwing grenades
What's happening? White boys shooting up a church
What's happening? My nigga 2-2 just got some work
What's happening? You can get it if you got it, nigga
But I ain't got it, nigga, I'm just a solid nigga
Who run Compton, f*ck bitches and flick Impala switches
Even if I was born blind, you niggas couldn't stop my vision
Right on time with mine thanks to them old Doc prescriptions
West side flourishing again, this what 2Pac envisioned
Obama freeing lifers, that was locked in prison
El Chapo said he ran the world, and they forgot to listen
Not me, nigga, one split second, I say "F*ck rap"
And if I ran into El Chapo, he had work as one his captains
And gave me 100 bricks and said "Migo, get it bracking"
I walk into a Mexican Mafia meeting like

What's happening? Pac's gone, Brenda's still got a baby
What's happening? Lost ones in the land of the crazy
What's happening? You can have a bad bitch in a Mercedes
But that don't make your basic ass Beyonce or Jay-Z
What's happening? Obama 'bout to move out the White House
What's happening? Couple hood niggas 'bout to roll them dice out
What's happening? Is you gon' let me use your EBT card (yeah)
I wonder if I could slide it for commissary, yah

Ain't it a shame?
Another lost one running again
(You know I bust my thang for you)
You do the same old thing that your brothers did before you
Planning your whole life under concrete in the soil
Just a continuation, I wonder where you get your game from
If I know anything it's that my old head taught me all alone
And it's a cold game, better get your coat, get your snow chains, man
It's a chess game full of kings and pawns

Black and white squares, just depends what side you on
(What side is you on?)
I want a red '64 Impala with them things on it

Black out inside an abandoned crack house
Only thing from last night was dead bodies and glass pipes
That was the age 4, and by the age 10
They opened up the caged doors and let the f*cking beast out
F*ck my auntie couch, I'm 'bout to take the street route
And get my shit the gangsta way, cause I can't be no Steve Stoute
I'm too Nas for these niggas, I got a surprise for these niggas
Potato cooking on the barrel, I bring the fries to these niggas
Funeral hall, casket fit to the size of you niggas
Chrome 45, no lie, come say goodbye to you niggas
Sway got all the answers, Kanye lied to you niggas
I don't even wanna be in no top 5 with you niggas
I break ties with you niggas, then pay tithes for you niggas
Los Angeles king, I will no fly zone you niggas
Take a caravan and Impalas and drive to you niggas
Close one and aim, Fetty Wap's eye to you niggas

Ain't it a shame?
Another lost one running again
(You know I bust my thang for you)
You do the same old thing that your brothers did before you
Planning your whole life under concrete in the soil
Just a continuation, I wonder where you get your game from
If I know anything it's that my old head taught me all alone
And it's a cold game, better get your coat, get your snow chains, man
It's a chess game full of kings and pawns

All I ever wanted was to ride my '64 down 'Shaw
Uh, I'ma spit them verses for my niggas
Dreams coming true, don't it always paint a perfect picture
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Jayceon Terrell Taylor, Uforo Ebong
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.




Crenshaw / 80s And Cocaine

You can catch rolling down Crenshaw (Crenshaw)
Is that a mother f*cking Impala? (Bitch Yeah)
Magazine on my lap, I'm rolling up indo
Gang signs, watch us throw them out the window
Gang signs, watch us throw them out the window
Gang signs, watch us throw them out the window
Gang signs, watch us throw them out the window
Gang signs

Parked at the light, give a f*ck about a bitch nigga
Only nigga worth six figures that still click triggers
On my way to LAX, f*ck the freeway
Riding through South Central in the 'Wood like I should
But I'm a Compton nigga, west side monster nigga
You should know by now, I f*ck with all kinds of niggas
Call Big U and we going to see about that vagina in you
You don't bang huh? That's that out of town in you
My niggas eat late night, Mel's Diner menu
You a shooter? Better have that North Carolina in you
I had wolves at all kinds of venues
Dub's show I let the snub show
Shall I continue?
F*cking niggas up like it was '05
Like Dre just listened to my whole demo and cosigned
Talking out your neck, get you buried in no time
I heard you niggas looking for me, Blood

You can catch rolling down Crenshaw (Crenshaw)
Is that a mother f*cking Impala? (Bitch Yeah)
Magazine on my lap, I'm rolling up indo
Gang signs, watch us throw them out the window
Gang signs, watch us throw them out the window
Gang signs, watch us throw them out the window
Gang signs, watch us throw them out the window
Gang signs

Nip be where the Crips be
Skeme be where the bloods be
Nigga, I'm with the shit, give a f*ck if niggas Cuz me
Say the wrong things wrong time, get a blood beef
Same color rag, still laying where the subs be
[mumbling]
Naw f*ck that nigga, I'll have a prostitute to open the trunk and cut that nigga
I'll have a couple crooked cops come and touch that nigga
Then get a bully in the pen to come and f*ck that nigga
Life is crazy, yeah my life is crazy
Don't let Calabasas fool you, I'll kill you baby
Bury you in my backyard, shit I'm sittin on five acres
You wanna go to war? I got the paper
Nigga wanna fade? I got the taper
Nigga want to shoot? I got the laser
Any bitch that want to f*ck, I got a take it
And I don't put no tints on my whip
One strap, full clip nigga!

You can catch rolling down Crenshaw (Crenshaw)
Is that a mother f*cking Impala? (Bitch Yeah)
Magazine on my lap, I'm rolling up indo
Gang signs, watch us throw them out the window
Gang signs, watch us throw them out the window
Gang signs, watch us throw them out the window
Gang signs, watch us throw them out the window
Gang signs..
Part 2: 80's and Cocaine

Bullets coming through the windows and the walls
That's on the set, all my niggas on call
Don't pray for me, pray for them niggas
Menace to society, I'm like Lorenz nigga
I want the rims nigga, and your gold chain
Don't blame me, blame 80s and cocaine
I want the rims nigga, and your gold chain
Don't blame me, blame 80s and cocaine

Ay yo I wake up, put on chronic like bitches makeup
Cush like Nicki and Meek, it's hard to breakup
38 tucked, take a piss and eat my breakfast
Six bitches at my kitchen table ass naked
I got more bitches than Hugh Heff, nigga i'm reckless
Iced out Playboy pendant hanging from my necklace
Used to take a brick chop that bitch up in sections
Pack it in the car like its Mexican no flexin
It's that whip work, chop that, sell it out, we cop that
On wimbleton and brazil in my impala with the top back
Where my nigga Top at?
Remember them days before you and Rock brought Watts back?
We was in Stevenson Village in front your crib nigga
Leanin like a top hot, ordering Tommy burgers with everything
Cop back my Glock fat nina ross akon black
Bullets pop up out of nowhere like State Farm BLAT!
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Fredrick Nassar, Jayceon Terrell Taylor
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.




Gang Bang Anyway

Um, yeah palms sweating guess it's time for the murder
My nigga my nerve, I swerve left you dead on the curb
Tell his family get them black clothes
Any witness gets a 9 cold, could do this with a blindfold
I'm that player on the corner looking dry when it rains
Pimp a dollar out a pussy, I ain't trying to change
Far from average, I'm smoking this cabbage
Bottled teeth, joint karats, say cheese, make the cops freeze
Big cribs, four bars, living pipe dreams
You only gangsta through your bop screen
Might set the reason for the crime scene
Fill up the city with madness
We the reason the hearses left your hood and holding up traffic
Let the riddles do the scrapping, keep the gun in my fabric
Better pistol than them badges, you get dealt with the maggots
heard drive-bys everyday
Seen homies die early age, though we still gang bang anyway
Uh, yeah, Figg side

Though we still gang bang anyway, uh
Though we still gang bang anyway, uh
Though we still gang bang anyway, uh
Though we still gang bang anyway

B's and them h's, tats on faces, Glocks with extendos
Chucking up the hood then throw like 80 out that window
The chopper make you limbo
Gotta keep them antennas up, moving down Central
Young niggas with skinnies, moving with them semis
Catch your ass leaving the club, murk you at Denny's
Squeeze till it's empty, it seems so unreal
'Til the gunfire got you using tables as a shield
East side, west side, niggas getting chastised
Dropping like fruit flies, we all know who die
We all go on Insta and get the whole rundown
A 15 second clip until he put the gun down
Know OG's who took more shots like diabetics
had that MAC paint on your face like cosmetics
Chucking up big ass B's is my fetish
Type of shit that make you go brazy if I let it
Niggas got zippers, wheelchairs and prosthetics

Though we still gang bang anyway, uh
Though we still gang bang anyway, uh
Though we still gang bang anyway, uh
Though we still gang bang anyway

hundred days, hundred nights, nigga
Let the K'ss scream 'til we see the red and blue lights, nigga
From the hoovers to the hundreds, nigga
From Kelly Park to Bounty hunters, nigga
(Watch out for the shooters)
Same age as the kids in Iraq now
LA Chiraq now, funerals is packed now
Preachers at the pulpit, Jesus is the background
Grandmother get shot walking out the church
how that sound?
Niggas don't really like it but we grew up in it
City of angels, belly of the beast get chewed up in it
Started as Black Panthers, everything power, everything pro black
Started off unified the FBI know that
A little coke sprinkled on tables but wasn't no crack
False imprisonment, huey P, Geronimo Pratt
Now close your eyes, listen to me, your mind'll go back
Picture us chained together under the boat, that's a Kodak
And since today is Thursday, let me hit you with a throwback
Stolen identities, God left us here without lowjack
Forced to find ourselves, forced to break up outta chains
Got tired of getting hanged so we started our own gangs
Tookie Williams (Crip), Sylvester Scott (Blood)
Seventy two Lil' Country caught a slug
And that was the first time a crip ever killed a blood
Now the shit is worldwide cause it is what it was
We know the history and we know the shit could end any day

Though we still gang bang anyway, uh
Though we still gang bang anyway, uh
Crips, primarily African American gang
Though we still gang bang anyway, uh

Founded in Los Angeles, California 1969
By Raymond Washington and Stanley Williams
Though we still gang bang anyway
Today there's over a million Crip members worldwide
Associated with the blue bandana
Bloods, also primarily African American
Street gang founded in Los Angeles county city known as Compton
By Sylvester Scott and Benson Owens
A mission he formed to provide members protection from the Crips
Today there's over 5 million Bloods worldwide
The government still can't contain us
And our fate was sealed forever
When 17 year old LA brim Frederick "Lil Country" Garrett
Was murdered by west side Crips on June fifth 1972

Crip 1: hey man ain't that Lil Country over there cuz?
Crip 2: If it is, his ass gon' be laying in a blood river
Crip 1: hey man, make a u-turn and pull up on him real slow
Crip 2: Alright cuz
Crip 1: What's happening Fred?
Shotgun pump and gunshot
Woman: Frederick, oh my god, oh my god Frederick no, no
Gasping for air
Woman: Please, oh my God
Somebody help me
Y'all just gonna f*cking stand there? Call the police
Somebody help me, please
Ok stay with me
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: TAYLOR JAYCEON TERRELL
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.




The Ghetto

Stay with me, please, don't leave me, baby
I love you, stay with me, please, baby
Someone's coming, please, please

It seems like everywhere I go, everybody's in a struggle
Oh, the whole world is a ghetto
Oh, the whole world is a ghetto
The ghetto, the ghetto, the ghetto, the ghetto
The, the, the, the

It be jam-packed in front of the stoops in Siberia
Same way they are in the middle of Nigeria
Every part of the whole world, there's an area
That, if you're poor, another day alive is a miracle
The blocks in Watts got crooked cops that frame the innocent
No different from Flint, Michigan
Living in the D, checking in with the pimps and them
It's similar to O-Town, in the Southern Peninsula
Pretty city, skyscrapers will fool you, look through to
Inner cities the rich won't move to
The nice parts, they well-protected by a vanguard
The opposite of how these concentration camps are
Low-income housing, it dwells murderers
But children don't qualify for health services
The bourgeois act like they don't see starvations
Like they spraying Estée Lauder on sanitation

It seems like everywhere I go, everybody's in a struggle
Oh, the whole world is a ghetto
Oh, the whole world is a ghetto
The ghetto, the ghetto, the ghetto, the ghetto
The, the, the, the

Streetlights come on, cop cars' lights flicker
They smoke us like cigarettes, need a light, nigga?
Used to chastise or string us up to spite niggas
War to fight for the culture, instead we eaten by vultures
They mix us like mimosas, hang us on wanted posters
Asked for license and registration with they gun out the holster
Some of us guilty, some of us not, some of us filthy rich
Others just watch us niggas drive up the block
We think we keeping it one hundred coming back to the hood
They think we flossin' money, so they pull a ratchet: what's good?
It happens in Compton, happens in Queens
Happened to Big L, happened to Chinx, and 2Pac, in that passenger's seat
Sometimes it's internal, happens to you before you happen to bleed
What's beef? Cops killing niggas dead in the streets
So before we look outside, we gotta look within
Cause, now, we the dinosaurs, I think the world 'bout to end

It seems like everywhere I go, everybody's in a struggle
Oh, the whole world is a ghetto
Oh, the whole world is a ghetto
The ghetto, the ghetto, the ghetto, the ghetto
The, the, the, the

I'm from the project buildings, high stories
My stories from valence to glory
Dog-eat-dog world, gory
In the gutter, brother despise brother
Throwing threats at each other
Broken bottles and bar fights with box cutters
Alcoholics, narcotics, organized
Families sleep from a gas stove, burned alive
They bagging up drugs with plastic gloves
On his way to the top with his cash, he shrugs
Kidnappers, degenerate thieves and gamblers
Stealing, panhandlers, wrapping grams up
Rubber bands on they Grams, what?
Playing cards and they bored
Members of gangs, living by and dying by the sword
Block parties, fools stamp debit cards
Your hood ain't no different from ours
We share the same dreams, same money
Same clothes and cars, instead we get the same jail bars

The world's a ghetto
The world's a ghetto
The world's a ghetto
(Ghetto)
The world's a ghetto

Me and God's son, jumping out of project buildings in black parachutes
Both classic, both ride through the hood in a pair of coupes
Flow sick, mix the Henny with the Theraflu
He told me I was ill at that Houston's, nigga, where was you?
Hip-hop critics, sit the f*ck down, get a chair or two
I ain't tryna kick knowledge, just a pair of graphic parables
Grew up, spent the whole middle school in the same pair of shoes
Me and my brother sharing shoes, my childhood was terrible
That's why I spend nights on the rooftop, smoking medical
You got a minute, my nigga? Let me break down the variables
Adapted to my surroundings, flow better than I used to
Momma, this for us buyers, for the days I wore FUBU
Having beaucoup dreams, deuce-deuce in jeans, my nigga
Now, I'ma end your career in two sixteens, my niggas
If he the God's son, then I must be the prophet
And all this "King of L.A." shit, you niggas need to stop it
(The ghetto)

It seems like everywhere I go, everybody's in a struggle
Oh, the whole world is a ghetto
Oh, the whole world is a ghetto
The ghetto, the ghetto, the ghetto, the ghetto
The, the, the, the

Uh, it's a ghetto
Uh, it's a ghetto
It's a ghetto
It's a ghetto
(You gonna take that top note or what, man?
We gonna do this harmony or we gonna do it right
This motherf*cker Chuck gonna come here swinging
He's gonna come here drunk off that shit
Come on, now, let's get it right, tighten up, nigga
One, two, three, four)
It's a ghetto
It's a ghetto
It's a ghetto
It's a ghetto
One more time
It's a ghetto, yeah
It's a ghetto
It's a ghetto
Hey, it's a ghetto
(Alright, alright, that sound good
But we need to work on this other one, now
Let's get it tight
Come on, Erica, Jay, Pharaoh
Let's get it right)
Oh, oh, took your love away
I wanna know
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: ANDRE CHRISTOPHER LYON, EDWARD JOHN MONTILLA, JASON PHILLIPS, JAYCEON TERRELL TAYLOR, KHALED MOHAMMAED KHALED, MARCELLO ANTONIO VALENZANO, MAURICE YOUNG
Copyright: Lyrics © BMG RIGHTS MANAGEMENT US, LLC




From Adam

Here we go again
Ten years later
You know what man? Uhm
F*ck it
Ayo C
Give me that Jamison and that pickle juice
Thank you
I got some shit on my mind
(I wanna know)

My little nigga Frog dead dog
They shot my little nigga in his head dog
You heard what the f*ck I just said dog?
Walk inside my closet like f*ck everything red dog
If you seen your best friend stiff, you would cry too
Sometimes I don't even wanna be a Piru
Then I think about it like, f*ck everything blue
Who killed my motherf*ckin' brother?
(I wanna know)
Who killed G man too? The shit I seen men do
If I told you, it'd have me floating in cement shoes
See Compton ain't shit really
And I've been at the bottom of the pits feel me?
I done had some real niggas try to kill me
Fake niggas in my crew
Crip niggas more loyal than a few of my Piru
I done been shot, had a surgery or two
I been around like Pac I'm like birdie at the troops
I can't lie, every time I see Suge my heart beat
Cause I don't know if I should dap him or let the hawk speak
Wilmington and brazil, nigga them my cross streets
And who gon' take it from me?

They think they know me
But they do not know me
Cause I do not know me
Who killed my homie?
I wanna know names
Click-clack explain
I can kill you but ain't nothing gonna change
But I might do it anyway
You gonna die any way
I'm gonna die any way
We can go any day
It can be any day
But for you
Today is the day
Today is the day

I was playing Madden then I heard a knock
Everybody know I got shot but this for nigga's that forgot
Sometimes I thank God that I got set up
When you shot twice in the chest, it's kinda hard to keep your head up
Suspect one: the homies never came to see me
Suspect two: Red hid my gun behind the TV
Suspect three: I was beefing with this Crip in my apartment
Shit started cause we fought and he couldn't see me
There's usually ten niggas in our dope spot
Cold ass night, I'm like a janitor at Wing Stop
I usually play Xbox with the gun cocked
I'm cool with taking mine, but I took other niggas gunshots
Chest wide open, I'm tryna fight, but my lungs not
Hole in my chest bout the size of a Kumquat
I know who shot me cause I shot them
But who set me up? I ain't tripping but...
(I wanna know)

They think they know me
But they do not know me
Cause I do not know me
Who killed my homie?
I wanna know names
Click-clack explain
I can kill you but ain't nothing gonna change
But I might do it anyway
You gonna die any way
I'm gonna die any way
We can go any day
It can be any day
But for you
Today is the day
Today is the day

Let me tell you how I met my nigga Whack
Shit, he ain't always have a nigga back
When I met him, he was standing behind Suge
And everything is all good when you banging for your hood
Compton
That nigga Whack got my number and came through
Now let me tell you the type of shit the Game do
He walked in the booth where I was spitting
Gave him ten thousand, couldn't even finish his f*ckin' sentence
I ain't owe him shit, but real recognize real
Now we like two red-nosed Pits
Cross him, you gotta cross me
And don't forget about where my nigga AR be
He be in the cut, that niggas nuts, don't give a f*ck
Love his nigga Game to death, and he mean it from the guts
Blow, what's up? Which one of you dumb mothaf*ckas wanna try us?
(I wanna know)
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: TAYLOR JAYCEON TERRELL
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.




Gang Related

Sometimes I pull up on Brazil and Wilmington like 3 o'clock in the morning, stop my car, let the top down. Don't nobody know I'm there, just reminiscing bout the days when we used to be in [?] crack spot, with my brother Fase, King Frog, Squid Big Dan, D-Bo, D-Los. Back when Lil' Frog and Badass they was lil niggas, lil wild niggas running round the hood. My nigga Slim 'Ru is in the joint doing ten. That's my solid nigga, on Bloods. My nigga Peanut, he in jail now. My lil' cousin Domo and my homeboy Buddha Ru. This Cedar block

I remember days like this, my nigga
We was tripping cause we hated Crips, my nigga
Shooting out of six trays and shit, my nigga
He was slipping so we sprayed his six, my nigga
I done seen some brazy shit, my nigga
A kid shot cause he raised his fist, my nigga
Fiends stealing cause they can't get a fix, my nigga
Sharing needles, passing AIDS and shit, my nigga
It's f*cked up but I was raised in this, my nigga
Been smoking purple haze since six, my nigga
And my moms wasn't no lazy bitch, my nigga
I seen her hustle that's what made me rich, my nigga
But all this shit is overrated that's why I don't give a f*ck no more
I don't want this Benz or this truck no more
I started off doing this shit cause I love this shit, Blood
Seeing the homie slap box, I love this shit, Blood
Sitting in my Impala like I love this shit, Blood
Weren't never 'bout a dollar, I just love this shit, Blood
Scrapping after school, Compton high wasn't bool
Could have went to Centennial but I love this shit, Blood
Used to bang Quik, yeah I love this shit, Blood
Mausberg was sick and I love this shit, Blood
Then I gave Wacko my demo outside of Food 4 Less
He came back in ten minutes like "I love this shit, Blood"
West side Piru, I love this shit Blood
Elm street to the Fruits yeah I love this shit, Blood
Crip neighborhoods too, even though they blue
Compton is where we grew and I love this shit, Blood

I seen some brazy shit, my nigga
I done seen some brazy shit, my nigga
I done seen some brazy shit, my nigga
I done seen some brazy shit, my nigga
I done seen some brazy shit, my nigga
I done took some fades with Crips, my nigga
My own homies did some shady shit, my nigga
But that's the shit that made my this, my nigga

All my life's been so complicated
But I will never turn my back on Compton
Our shit is so overrated
But I will never change who I am
So I'm riding for Compton
I ride, I ride, I ride, I ride for Compton

I done seen some brazy shit, my nigga
I done seen some brazy shit, my nigga
I done seen some brazy shit, my nigga
I done seen some brazy shit, my nigga
I done seen some brazy shit, my nigga
I done took some fades with Crips, my nigga
My own homies did some shady shit, my nigga
Got a voicemail from Braze, what's this, my nigga

Blood! Chuck, you know what it is, Blood!
You know I only call you when its on some real shit, homie
I gotta tell you: Stay the f*ck up out them streets, Blood;
You done came to motherf*cking far
To be playing with these bitch-ass niggas out here
On Westside Bompton Piru
Nigga you know I been holding you down ever since you was young, Blood
You know, niggas out here getting killed
All the motherf*cking homeboys, and nobody doing shit!
But nigga, you got a way up outta this motherf*cker, Blood
Nigga, you a real Bompton motherf*cker
Nigga Cedar block, you already know how I do it, nigga
Motherucking O.G. Westside Bompton Piru Brazy
Aka Frank (?), niggas know me
Y'all know how I get down
That's my lil' motherf*cking homeboy
Blood done made it up outta here
Looking out for his kids, looking out for his family
Any nigga get in his way gon get it, on Bompton!
Chuck, Blood, don't let them do you like they did my nigga 2Pac
2Pac, 2Pac, 2Pac, 2Pac...
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: TAYLOR JAYCEON TERRELL
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.




Last Time You Seen

When the last time you seen 2Pac?
When the last time you seen 2Pac?
When the last time you seen 2Pac?
When the last time you seen 2Pac?

I know who killed Pac, nigga
The police know who killed Pac, nigga
Suge Knight know who killed Pac, nigga
He died at the car wash, the world heard the shots, nigga
Then they killed Biggie, he just came through to visit
Rampart division, Pirus ain't had nothing to do with it
So many niggas in caskets, then turned ashes
Some get shot, some Hussein Fatal in car crashes
I think it's a conspiracy theory, Illuminati
How Pac died and two months later they killed Kadafi
Then they killed Buntry Al and Heron, they getting sloppy
LAPD, these niggas worse than the Nazis
And Pac was only 25, thuggin' as a youngin'
Sitting shotgun, I wonder if he seen them shots coming
Guess it don't matter, all the niggas buried, though
Wouldn't have never happened if Suge kept it real with Harry-O

The way I look at it is like this, even me man, coming up in that game, right. I came up in that game, man, and I was blind to a lot of things. And even though I came to jail for some bullshit, I believe that the karma had a lot to do with that. See that's what happened with Fat Boy when he disrespected me in the game. But I was a good dude in a lot of ways to a lot of people and so a lot of people that crossed me in different ways think they gon' have karma. So karma swings for me both ways, what you put out you get back. You put out good shit, you gon' get good shit; it may not always look like it because sometimes there be obstacles in the between. But I dun learned cause when I was on the street I used to go hard in the paint about different shit. What I learned over the years though is, man, sometimes you ain't gotta be the judge, the jury or the situation cause karma gonna handle it's business cause it's [?]

Late night down Sunset, liking the scene
On a tour bus in St. Paul, riding to win
Don't know how it begin, every day was a new
When he was young, living life fast and rhyming his truth
And if crack had took a part of the homies family tree
The lil' nigga he was talking 'bout was probably me
And him to know my life story and we not even meet
When we did, it was like we'd known each other for dealing
When the last time I seen him, he was playing his tape
And he would lay the title Makaveli the Great
Smile for me, yeah, it's strictly for my niggas
Try to touch money, high on weed and liquor
Hoping God'll forgive us, we been stuck here in the Matrix
Dead before you dishonor a nigga when he face him
Whatever shit you killing with, you get you two Glocks
I guarantee that pussy shit'll stop
When the last time you seen 2Pac?

When the last time you seen 2Pac?
When the last time you seen 2Pac?
When the last time you seen 2Pac?
When the last time you seen 2Pac?

Last time I seen him was in the mirror this morning
Riverside, motherf*cker
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Stacy Barthe, Robert Mandell, Jayceon Terrell Taylor, Brad Terrance Jordan, Larry Darnell Griffin Jr.
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group




Intoxicated

Yeah, it's time to wake up
Wake up and cake up
It's 187.4 FM on your dial
The number 1 station via satellite, CD radio and your stereo
Broadcasting live from the left coast
The land of la la, movie stars, pimps, playas, hustlers and purse straps
It's W Bars, the station that murders them all with platinum hits
And this is dedicated to the ladies who love giving that sloppy toppy
Go 'head and pull that foreskin back, hold on tight
It's the jack off hour, girl
You requested it and The Documentary 2 is in your ear
And I am the DJ that is gonna sock some soul to your ass
Not the DJ that can save your life
It's ya boy, Kane Dingaling, AKA the original black spiderman
About to shoot a rope down your throat, it's DJ Easy Dick
Killing you softly with intoxication and a song that's guaranteed to put some dip in your hip
Right now you're listening to the sweet melodic sounds of The Game and the homeboy Deion
So kick back, get your mind right, red cups in the air
Sip on some of that gin and juice like it ain't no thang
And puff on some of that LA Confidential strain, yeah

Pouring up the gin and juice (gin and juice)
Got a nigga feeling loose (got a nigga feeling loose)
Can you roll this blunt for me (yeah, yeah)
I'm just tryna smoke this weed (smoke this weed)
I spend all my life intoxicated (intoxicated)
And the chronic on deck (on deck)
Till we spark that grade, yeah

And shout goes out to our Instagram thot Shanine from the CPT
Yeah, she swallowed the nation and she's in our winning circle and she qualifies for that Blood Money swag pack
That includes the Blood Money gear, that Brazilian, Malaysian bundle, one year's worth of free visits to Dr. Fixaflat, the ass doctor
She got two tickets in backstage passes to the winners' circle concert featuring YG, Ty Dolla $ign, Kendrick Lamar and starring The Game
And speaking of The Game, he gon' be stopping by the studio later on
But right about now, I'ma hit you off with another slapper off The Documentary 2
It's a DJ Quik produced joint so pop it and lock it
Right here on the station that fades them all, W-Balls
*Toking blunt* yeah that's that chronic
*Coughs*
Don't stop sucking, girl

(Everybody's got to hear this shit
On W Balls! W Balls!)
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: TAYLOR JAYCEON TERRELL
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.




Quiks Groove

You see I wake up in the morning, grab my blunt and pull my dick up out this bitch mouth
I'm feeling like making this bitch iron my clothes or something
Multitasking, cooking breakfast, making a nigga wanna (smack that ass)
See, I met this bitch on Crenshaw, she told me give her a ride
I said "If I do that, you gotta give me head while Ray Charles drive."
Cause I ain't, for, the tricking, no I ain't
I'm with my main bitch and my side bitch, I'm feeling like Saddam
They had the bomb, and if her baby daddy tripping f*ck that nigga
I push that nigga hairline back like he LeBron make a nigga disappear like J-Kwon
Body found by the Swans, nigga missing both of his arms, I ain't playing
I'm with the rat-tat-tat-tat, shoot a nigga if he do or don't die, he ain't never coming back
Now it's one, two, buckle my shoe
Padded leather Giuseppes nigga, watch what the f*ck I do
It's the P-I-R-to-the-U
And I put that on my momma I'mma ride for you baby boo
Yay yay, I said I put that on my momma I'mma ride for you baby boo

I hope you giving head today
Cause I just wanna put this dick all in you (So I can bust a nut)
Baby we gon celebrate (Celebration)
You bring all your girls and I'mma bring my crew
(Let me be the one you take home at the end of the night babe)
Let me be the one (I only want you to myself babe)
Let me be the one (But you know I'm always open to suggestions)
Let me be the one (Down for you, should never be a question babe)
To blow your mind
To blow your mind
Don't waste my time baby
To blow your mind

Yeah, +Quik is the Name+
With the game, its a goddamn shame niggas can't see that we to blame
For putting Compton to flames, ignite it up
Haters knotted up, when you trip, with canker sores in your whip
That's what I do, to protect my party
My goons snatch you out by your Ed Hardy, then its back to shawty
All the ladies drink free, all the players grab a tab
That's how that's supposed to be, drinking Casamigos
F*cking faster than grand national regals, I'm in it in the pussy doing kegals
I'm so Fred Segal right now, she so spread eagle right now
Ain't nothing but the clothes going down
I'm in the game and the fires the same
My music is infinite like even before my fame
I wrote about a thousand 16-bar verses
And I'm still coming off like it's my first here

I hope you giving head today
Cause I just wanna put this dick all in you (So I can bust a nut)
Baby we gon celebrate (Celebration)
You bring all your girls and I'mma bring my crew
(Let me be the one you take home at the end of the night babe)
Let me be the one (I only want you to myself babe)
Let me be the one (But you know I'm always open to suggestions)
Let me be the one (Down for you, should never be a question babe)
To blow your mind
To blow your mind
Don't waste my time baby
To blow your mind

Now DJ Quik got a bitch from the Bay
Say she wanna f*ck his lil homie, got her sipping on that Alize
You ever had your dick sucked to Mausberg before?
And had a Mausberg pump leaning on the front door?
Treat my dick a newborn, hold the head
I told a bitch "Pimpin' ain't dead, hoes are scared
So stop that bickering," I got a bitch from the Nickersons that got a f*cking bounty on my head, uh ho

I'm rhyming with Chuck Taylor too, he doing something new
Something more comfortable for you to just bang your shit to
So lady, go on and work those hips
Like them inmates work those divs
And when I get there baby work your lips
If it don't make +Dollars+ don't holler
It's DJ Quik in any year Impala
And if it don't make +Sense+ then don't flinch
What you hear from a bull that don't chew no grass? No shit

I hope you giving head today
Cause I just wanna put this dick all in you (So I can bust a nut)
Baby we gon celebrate (Celebration)
You bring all your girls and I'mma bring my crew
(Let me be the one you take home at the end of the night babe)
Let me be the one (I only want you to myself babe)
Let me be the one (But you know I'm always open to suggestions)
Let me be the one (Down for you, should never be a question babe)
To blow your mind
To blow your mind
Don't waste my time baby
To blow your mind
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: TAYLOR JAYCEON TERRELL
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.




Up On The Wall

Old pussy ass mark, bitch ass buster
Think you from LA 'cause you listen to some Mustard?
This is Battlecat, my nigga Kurupt had the battle raps
We go back like four flats on the Cadillac
Nigga, you ain't never been to a hood day
You don't know Ice Cube, today was a good day
You ain't never been on dropped off in the jungles
Tan Khakis, red bandana wrapped around your knuckles
Me and my brother used to dip down in 'Shaw
Stopped at the Weiner Schnitzel, got socked in the jaw
By some sixties, I bombed back, the nigga pulled
Out a strap, said it's 6-0, I ducked, then he missed me
Now I'm back to Bompton
Before I hit the hood, a nigga gotta stop in the Swans
And pick up a sack, had fifty for an eighth
And I only had fifty, made it last all day
Smoking with the homies, My nigga G Weed from Nellaz
My nigga Hooter from Athens Park stay brackin'
Fo' line, deuce line, Bray still active
And the Cedars ain't giving no passes, why we asking?

How you gon' bang if you really ain't from LA?
Spray your gang up on the wall
Tell me
And how you gon' fade if you really don't know the dance
I see you really don't bang at all
Mark-ass

Murder was the case that they gave Game
Cops on the Cutlass 'cause they know a nigga gang bang
Red bandana round the rearview
"Where you say you from, Blood?" Niggas can't hear you
Flag on the left side claiming you a Blood
Blue rag on the right side calling niggas cuz
'Bout to get your mark ass chalked out on the West
This for all my niggas in the pen beating on they chest like

I said I need some pussy on my motherf*cking wall
And I ain't got my commissary yet
I said the next motherf*cker try to steal a cigarette
He gon' get a f*cking pencil to the neck

That's on the set
Ooh, I'm a Tree Top rep
All the homies know I shoot choppers, handguns and Tecs
Not unless my niggas really get it popping
Tree Top niggas like the Hoovers in Bompton
Big Budda, Syke O, Slim 4, Lil Wack
Q-Ball, Lil' Wolf, TK, big back
YZ, 40 Duty, three, two strap
Quisha and Miss Lisa house, where we at
It's the gang bang capital, two Ts, capitals
The enemies know the business, this shit is factual
Bompton's most hated, f*ck it, shoot out and fade it
So my mama stay awake 'cause her son be gang banging
You don't know about the put ons and DPs
Hanging out on the block (coming through to squeeze)
Some outta town niggas disrespecting
I see why Suge Knight and Big U was arrested
(Can't forget about the Mexicans)
And I f*ck with the villains and the Swans on God

On God
I got niggas from Denver Lane that'll ride
I got éses that'll kill you at your job
I got some looters by the Weiner Schnitzel
Hanging out with the pistols, making sure shit official
Big Whos and Day both got stripes
Both locked up for life, so if I ever hit the pen
I got a squad, hell yeah, I'm on that gangsta shit
Nigga, run up, knockout, he gon' think he's slick
Hub in the dub, nigga, don't even trip
I get you chased by the grapes, nigga 300 Crips
My nigga Magic from Avalon, Draws from neighbourhood
Get your ass, dope fiends slipping in Hollywood
Hop from 6-0, Girch from Santana
Roc from Nutty Blocc, we tied our bandanas
And for my little nigga Frogg, I gotta stay active
Blood in, Blood out, what's brackin'?

R.I.P OG TC
Shoutout to my big homie Bone from Athens
Ridin' down Bentral 'bout to bust a right
On Piru street and scoop this nigga Problem up, Blood

What, green light and yeah it's go time
Product out the fo', they can get it off in no time
Oh my, did it on my own, no cosign
45, devil in disguise, free dope trial
West side, ride 'em off 3rd avenue
Go at us, have your shirt wet as Lake Havasu
Pop pop diggity drop drop, hopped in a hotbox
Smashed off, stashed the Glock, drop it off at the chop shop
Boy, dollars only thing make sense
Fo' to the deuce, rest in peace 4 Bent, what?

How you gon' bang if you really ain't from LA?
Spray your gang up on the wall
Tell me
And how you gon' fade if you really don't know the dance
I see you really don't bang at all
Mark-ass
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Jason Martin, Jayceon Taylor, Keenon Jackson, Tyrone Griffin
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.




Sex Skit

"Ay nigga park the car for me"
"Ay nigga, you quit jumping out the car while it's rolling nigga
You gon' get your leg f*cked up nigga"
"Nah nigga, f*ck you"
"Nigga, and hurry up, nigga
Think with your P, nigga, not with your D, nigga"
"Nigga, I'ma be in and out, fool, literally in and out"
"I don't even take niggas to meet bitches"

"This bitch always in here listening to some loud ass music
Tamika, open the f*cking door"

"Nigga, it's already unlocked
And why you beating on the motherf*cking door
Like you the police or something?"
"Bitch, shut up!"
"Bitch? I ain't your bitch"
"Aight, my bad, you know I'm just playing with you
Bitch, hurry up and take them clothes off I ain't got all day"
"Nigga, f*ck you, don't rush me"
"Why you always listen to this shit?
Turn this shit off, T-Boz would kill yo motherf*cking ass
She heard you f*cking this song up"
"Ha, nigga f*ck you, I can sing
Uh uh, what the f*ck you doing? That's TLC, nigga"
"F*ck all that, I'm bout to put on some oldies in this motherf*cker

"Yeah, that's the f*ck I'm talking bout, yeah, turn yo ass over"
"Mm mm nigga, f*ck me doggystyle"
"Doggystyle? Bitch, I ain't Snoop, I'm getting on top"
"Whatever, nigga, just give me the dick and shut the f*ck up"
"You shut the f*ck up"

"Oh, I'm shutting up
Oh, I'm shutting up, oh"
"That's my pussy"
"It's yours"
"That's my pussy"
"It's yours, baby"
"Say my name"
"Jayceon"
"Jayceon's pussy?"
"Jayceon pussy, baby, that's yo pussy"
"You like it?"
"Yeah"
"You love it?"
"I love it, love it"

"F*ck me baby"

"F*ck, you got some bomb ass pussy"
"Well, f*ck me all day then"
"Nah, watch out, I can't"
"The f*ck you mean you can't?"
"Bitch, I got somewhere to go"
"Where the f*ck you gotta go?"
"None of your motherf*cking business
I'm out, watch out"
"So what now, you finna be out?"
"Nah, I'm bout to go get in the shower
Ay, iron my flag for me"
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Jayceon Terrell Taylor, Uforo Ebong
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.




My Flag / Da Homies

[Hook: Game]
Maybe I should iron out my flag
Maybe I should put another crease in it
Maybe I should iron out my flag
If you gang banging who you beefing with?

[Verse 1: Game]
I Know your baby never hurt nobody
But he got his ass smoked at that Mustard party
OG Blood, everybody know me when I came in with the little homies, Skeme!

[Verse 2: Skeme]
Get out the way yo, get out the way yo
That nigga duke just moved a house in yayo
And you know I keep gunners on the payroll
I even f*cked with Mitchy Slick down in Daygo
Young General these niggas gotta spray for
You F*ck around and catch 20 out this Range Ro'
Mane that beef shit is what a nigga made for
I open fire on her open mouth, case closed
Came in this bitch with Chuck Taylor's screaming f*ck haters
Bad bitch I'ma f*ck later, tryna touch paper
In a 6 tray rag going brazy up the ave
What I'm drinking got me thinking, nigga maybe I should iron out my -

[Hook: Game]
Maybe I should iron out my flag
Maybe I should put another crease in it
Maybe I should iron out my flag
If you gang banging who you beefing with?

[Verse 3: Jay 305]
Is anybody killing us, that's for anybody nigga
Mainline, waistside, westside nigga
F*ck peace, this for Crenshaw kings
Suckin' out niggas, f*ck is ya'll mean?
Lowkey is on drop, give a f*ck bout whatcho mama
When it's on, it's on, pop it like a bottle of patron
Then lay back with a bitch, man this is westside Jay 3-0 fifth
No gimmicks, God damn

[Verse 4: Mitchy Slick]
I won't stop being a blood to gangland
To my dope then kicked in locked up in a strange land
So when they be like, "Slick, why we ain't see you on TV or nothin'?"
Shit, I'm still tryin' get off the gang injunction
Cause when it come to this been, I'm a monster to your leaf
You can do a whole damu documentary on just me
Call it "The Life of a Hundred Percent Real Whooper"
They did it for the grams, moves and the hush
Yeah Dat

[Hook: Game]
Maybe I should iron out my flag
Maybe I should put another crease in it
Maybe I should iron out my flag
If you gang banging who you beefing with?

[Verse 5: Joe Moses]
I put the woop in the woop like my DLB's
All I know is VNG's and FTB's
I ran phase back to back, that's on STB
And if you claimin' you a blood, shit, you better know me
Big homie gave me a gun and said "It better be empty"
I was eleven years old with a motha'f*ckin' fifty
I got love for certain niggas, I've been doing this since knee high Nehi
And you ain't a real blood if you didn't bang at the beehive

[Verse 6: RJ]
Westside AM, back in a straight jacket
Mister LA back, free my A track
Middle of July, I'm just tryin' bring a Maybach
Whole city riding, I ain't even did a Dre track
Nigga this Athens, made the game mad
So east coast niggas be like "Cuh, you crackin'."
Niggas ain't goin' hard, as you should stop rappin'
I'ma be the street rider till the casket

[Hook: Game]
Maybe I should iron out my flag
Maybe I should put another crease in it
Maybe I should iron out my flag
If you gang banging who you beefing with?
Part II: Da Homies

[Intro : The Game & RJ]
The Game - RJ, what's that shit we was doing the other day blood to that uh, to that Mustard beat when the homie was beating on his chest and shit?
RJ - Oh you talkin' bout that uh, that uh
The homies in the cut that's on E, niggas turnt up and we bout to hit the street (Mumbling)
The Game - Ay the blood, ay take blood drink. Give me that mutha'f*ckin' weed blood. Ay duke, do that shit blood

[Hook : RJ]
The homies in the cut that's on E, niggas turnt up and we bout to hit the street
The homie on probation, make him sit up in the back
Bout to hit the weed spot and get another sack
I said, the homies in the cut that's on E, down for whatever cuz the homies roll deep
Finger on the trigger, bandana round the Mac
Ride through the hood with a cup full of 'gnac

[Interlude]
Ay nigga, lemme hit the weed
Where the f*ck you get this bud from homie?
Ay, we about to run outta gas my nigga

[Hook : RJ & Ty Dolla $ign]
The homies in the cut that's on E, niggas turnt up and we bout to hit the street
The homie on probation, make him sit up in the back
Bout to hit the weed spot and get another sack
I said, the homies in the cut that's on E, down for whatever cuz the homies roll deep
Finger on the trigger, bandana round the Mac
Ride through the hood with a cup full of 'gnac

[Verse 1 : AD]
Im a real Compton Crip I hope you niggas get the message
Leave them 16's open, i'll make them look bad on records
Chuck told me "I'm Good", now I'm headed down to the seaters
After that, straight to the hood where them tanas holding theme heaters
Look, sagging down the A-Line, war f*ck it no play time
Hit my first tour I was still chuckin' up gang signs
Homies still cooking them cops hop out with K9
Lot of rappers's callin' out names, nigga don't say mine
The homies in the cut that's on E
Some niggas bang the C some niggas bangin' the P
I'm really in the streets you other niggas is weak
On my mama and the hood, f*ck around and Ya ass in peace
Especially when the homies in the cut that's on E

[Hook : RJ & Ty Dolla $ign]
The homies in the cut that's on E, niggas turnt up and we bout to hit the street
The homie on probation, make him sit up in the back
Bout to hit the weed spot and get another sack
I said, the homies in the cut that's on E, down for whatever cuz the homies roll deep
Finger on the trigger, bandana round the Mac
Ride through the hood with a cup full of 'gnac

[Outro Skit]
AD : Say nigga, that little nigga's right there cuz
Person 2 : Where nigga?
AD : Right across the street loc. Man I told these niggas the last time they keep pullin' em over here there gonna be problems cuz
Ay cuz, turn that f*ckin' music down nigga
Tired of these niggas comin' over here and shit nigga
Turn the lights on, man turn the lights on!
Man pull up nigga, I said pull up cuh!
Person 2: Hold on, hold on, they look like One Time
(Sirens blare)
Oh f*ck cuh
(Police in background): This is the Compton Police
AD : Man I knew I shouldn't have rolled witchu niggas, I'm about to get life cuz
Person 1: Life? Cuz they bout to put me on the row nigga
(Pol. in back) Put your (?)
Person 2: Aight!
(Pol. in back) Shut it off asshole!
AD : It's off cuh
Game: Hey look at blood an them get jacked by the ones
Person 4: Ha ha ha nigga don't drop that soap nigga
Game: Bitch ass niggas in ya own hood nigga
(laughing)
Game: Nigga hit the switch nigga (Car hydraulics activate) Get back to 05' on these niggas blood
Person 4: Woo
(Driving away)
Person 2: I ain't goin'
AD : Shh
Person 2: F*ck that nigga cuz I swear to god I ain't goin'
AD : The f*ck you mean you ain't going?
Person 2: I ain't going back to the pen cuz I can't
AD : Nigga what the f*ck we gon' do then?
Person 2: I don't know about you niggas but I'm going out
AD : F*ck it then cuh, on Compton Crip ! (kick the door open?)
(Sounds of slamming and gunshots)
AD : F*ck the police!
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: TAYLOR JAYCEON TERRELL
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.




Moment Of Violence

Yeah, yeah
Let me talk my shit
Nigga, this that 90 miles per hour on the freeway, nigga
This that motherf*cking black hoodie shit, my nigga, yeah

Now we been baptized in a gunfire
These cops 'round here too motherf*cking one sided
They f*cking liars (aight, aight, aight, aight)
Every time I hear these motherf*cker's sirens blaring
I wanna put something through that badge
Hollow tips in your power steering (aight, aight, aight, aight)
We say f*ck cops and their gun shots
All night we ducking them buck shots
We hear pop-pop, nigga hop-pop
You ain't strapped then homie why the f*ck not?
Hearing guns cock, we hear one shot
It's a moment of silence for the whole block
'Cause when one of us gone, it's like we all gone
(Aight, aight, aight, aight)
F*ck that, y'all ready to fight?

'Cause I'm so tired of this same old shit
Feeling like I ain't got no rights
Every time I turn around
Them red and blue lights
Always f*cking up my night
And me wanna load up
And put all you crooked motherf*ckers up in my sights (up in my sights)
(Aight, aight, aight, aight)

You done f*cked up now
You done crossed that line
Wait 'til I come back
I'ma bust that nine (this 09 nigga)
Y'all thought that shit was fine
'Til that shit go (braow)
I done lost my mind (shout out to Ferguson)
Shit you 'bout to find out
(Somebody gon' die tonight)
F*ck the police
Shit, f*ck the police
(It's about to be a silent night)
All this blood on the streets man, f*ck the police
(When that crowd ignite) Whoa
And unite like "F*ck the police"
(Better hug yo' wife)
(Man f*ck yo' life)
(Payback, payback)

I done lost my f*cking son because of this bullshit
Now I'm at the pulpit because of what I did with that full clip
And the judge and the jury, so f*cking full of shit
Do you know how many times
These mutherf*ckers try to pull this shit?

Man it's f*cking murder
Hide behind your badge and get away with it (aight)
Thought it was protect and serve
But half the time that's really not the way it is (aight, aight)
But you niggas got it coming
And you so outnumbered
It's bout to be a cold ass summer
(Aight, aight, aight, aight)

You done f*cked up now
You done crossed that line
Wait 'til I come back
I'ma bust that nine
Y'all thought that shit was fine
'Til that shit go (braow)
I done lost my mind (East L4 we got you)
Shit you 'bout to find out
(Somebody gon' die tonight)
F*ck the police
Shit, f*ck the police
(It's about to be a silent night)
All this blood on the streets man, f*ck the police
(When that crowd ignite)
And unite like "F*ck the police"
(Better hug yo' wife)
(Man f*ck yo' life)
(Payback, payback)

And I'll be on my knees
(And who's gonna love me now, ay) Praying for the day
That you remember me
(Oh daddy why'd you let me down?)
You'll come back this way (down)

I'll be on my knees
(Oh did you forget I was your flesh and blood?)
Praying for the day
That you remember me
(Oh, I need you to remember me)
You'll come back this way

I'll be on my knees
Praying for the day (ooh, praying for the day)
That you remember me
You'll come back this way (ohh-ooh)

I'll be on my knees
('Cause Mama couldn't raise no man)
Praying for the day
(And though she do the best she can)
That you remember me
(Every woman needs a helping hand)
You'll come back this way
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Jayceon Terrell Taylor, John Wesley Groover, Jon Freeman, Justin Mohrle, Michael Ray Cox Jr, Morris Ricks
Copyright: Lyrics © CTM Outlander Music LC, CONCORD MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.




Like Father Like Son 2

Yeah, yeah
Let me talk my shit
Nigga, this that 90 miles per hour on the freeway, nigga
This that motherf*cking black hoodie shit, my nigga

Now we been baptized in a gunfire
These cops round here too motherf*cking one sided
They f*cking liars
Every time I hear these motherf*cker's sirens blaring
I wanna put something through that badge
Hollow tips in your power steering
We say f*ck cops and then them gun shots
All night we ducking them buck shots
We hear pop-pop! Nigga hop-pop!
You ain't strapped then homie why the f*ck not?
Hearing guns cock, we hear one shot
It's a moment of silence for the whole block
Cause when one of us gone, it's like we all gone
F*ck that, yo I'm ready to fight!

Cause I'm so tired of this same old shit
Feeling like I ain't got not rights
Every time I turn around
Them red and blue lights
Always f*cking up my night
And me wanna load up and put all you pretty motherf*ckers up in my sight
All up in my sight

You done f*cked up now
You done crossed that line
Wait till I come back
Ima bust that nine
Y'all thought that shit was fine
Till that shit go (braow!)
I done lost my mind
Niggas is bout to find out
(Somebody gone die tonight)
F*ck the police
Shit, f*ck the police
(It's about to be a silent night)
All this blood on the streets man, f*ck the police
(When that crowd ignite)
And unite like "F*ck the police!"
(better hug yo wife
Man f*ck yo life!
Payback, payback)

I done lost my f*cking son because of this bullshit
Now I'm at the pulpit because of what I did with that full clip
And the judge and the jury, so f*cking full of shit
Do you know how many times
These mutherf*ckers try to pull this shit?

And it's f*cking murder
Hide behind your badge and get away with it
Thought it was protect and serve
But half the time that's really not the way it is
But you niggas got it coming
And you so outnumbered
It's bout to be a cold ass summer

You done f*cked up now
You done crossed that line
Wait till I come back
Ima bust that nine
Y'all thought that shit was fine
Till that shit go (braow!)
I done lost my mind
Niggas is bout to find out
(Somebody gone die tonight)
F*ck the police
Shit, f*ck the police
(It's about to be a silent night)
All this blood on the streets man, f*ck the police
(When that crowd ignite)
And unite like "F*ck the police!"
(better hug yo wife
Man f*ck yo life!
Payback, payback)

[Beat Change/Outro]
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Alan Maman, Trevor Smith, Jayceon Taylor
Copyright: Lyrics © Royalty Network, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.




Life

Whether we dribble out this motherf*cker
Wrap rock or riddle out this motherf*cker
We gon' get up out this motherf*cker
Same way that Venus did, Serena did, we them kids
Whitney was talking 'bout that's how it was
Before my brother caught them slugs and I watched coroners chalk him out
That ain't my brother in that box, what niggas talking bout?
Couldn't Paul Bearer cause I was too weak to walk him out
And that's real shit, I'm dedicated
Like Pac was to Jada before Jada met Will Smith
I'm already turnt up, chronic still burnt up
F*ck outta here, with all that lean and popping pills shit
Jump in my Impala get it hopping with a kill switch
I done been around the world, my life is like a field trip
I done been to Africa, seen niggas in Attica
Cops killing our youth, these numbers ain't adding up
Like that white boy sitting in a prison cell
Killed 9 people in a church, how he living still?
I couldn't understand, I spent hours with Farrakhan
Just begging him to let me be the millionth man
But some of these niggas just make you wanna kill a man
And let the .38 spin like a ceiling fan
Separate your body from soul, soul from Earth
Roll a blunt with your remains and then ash it in the dirt
Listen, you ain't a Christian cause you go to church
Listen, you ain't a gangster cause you got the work
A real gangster's one who take care of his whole family
Like me, even though my baby mama can't stand me
Her name tattooed on my neck, nigga it's branded
And my f*cking kids tighter than Ray J and Brandy
Yeah, I give it to you so you understand
F*cking bitches took my family
Bye baby, rock-a-bye baby
No tears or sobs, baby, been listening to Nas lately
And I can't lie, baby, been missing them thighs, baby
But it's more to life than Gucci and Louis Vuitton, baby
It's more to life than tripping on lies, baby
Put feelings aside, baby, you Nicki Minaj, baby
One day we all die, baby
So I'd rather go hard, keep Cali alive, baby
Yeah, keep Cali alive, baby
Double entendre, nigga that's my baby
And don't nobody father kids like me
Word to Kevin Hart, take care of they rib like me
I made f*cked up decisions but don't let 'em crucify me
I'm still the same nigga on my California ID
Yeah, Compton nigga
Blame Dre, it's his fault that I'm a monster, nigga
I was selling crack in west side Bompton, nigga
Yeah I can rap, but I ain't ask for no sponsors, nigga
I was light skin and young Klay Thompson, nigga
15, had guns like Contra, nigga
Now the call me bipolar, big contradiction
This The Documentary 2 without Doc's prescription
Motherf*cker
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: TAYLOR JAYCEON TERRELL
Copyright: Lyrics © ST MUSIC LLC




El Chapo

(Skrillex)
(Bangladesh)

I am the God (God, God, God, God, God, God)
El Chapo (woo, woo, woo, woo, woo, woo)
I am the God (God, God, God, God, God, God, God)
El Chapo (woo, woo, woo, woo, woo, woo)
I am the God (God, God, God, God, God, God, God)
El Chapo (woo, woo, woo, woo, woo, woo)
I am the God (God, God, God, God, God, God, God)

You know I get the kilos
Cincuenta por ciento
If you are not bilingual
Get the f*ck up out of town, 'fore we run your ass down
Underground how I came out
Any nigga try to stop me, let it hang out, let it bang, let it rain out
Yo soy el dios, you adiós nigga
I am the God
Get a nigga chopped up on a Tuesday
While the club goin' up on a Tuesday
This is doomsday, I can have Guadalupe
Come through and knock Donald Trump out his toupe
Now look at his brains all on the sidewalk
And tuck the .38 and jump on my skywalker
And woo I'm a rollin'
Shotgun, Claudia, oh cholo (I am the God)
Only nigga walking through Sinaloa with the blower red
Chuck Taylors on and you know it when I show up
It's a squad full of killers, squad full of hittas
Squad full of niggas that'll pull up, let it bark on a nigga
Hundred six shots bark on a nigga
Street sweeper wet the whole block up, Noah's Ark on a nigga
Got two Glock .9s, two .45s, two Desert Eagles
And they fight together side by side
No juego conmigo, tú sabes de mí, go
No Tony Montana, amigos y kilos
Mi casa es su casa, cuidado con el chico
Tú tienes la plata y yo tengo perico

Ya te dije, el juego y fuego
I am the God (God, God, God, God, God, God, God)
El Chapo (woo, woo, woo, woo, woo, woo)
I am the God (God, God, God, God, God, God, God)
El Chapo (woo, woo, woo, woo, woo, woo)
I am the God (God, God, God, God, God, God, God)
El Chapo (woo, woo, woo, woo, woo, woo)
Nigga, I am the God (God, God, God, God, God, God, God)

Pinche policía (puto)
Jodiendo todos los días (cabrón)
Que si llora tu familia (mátenlo)
O mi madre y mi tía (así)

I'm on a private jet with El Chapo, feet up
Sippin' Tecate 'bout to land for the re-up
F*ck the Montanas, we ain't got them trackin' devices
The feds they be watchin' and see us
Niggas wanna see us? Check the IG
I'm in the Villa throwin' blood up like an IV
Don't try me, Dej Loaf with the AK
600 million, 400 million from Dre Day, uh
Pablo Escobar in my hey-day, uh
Bringing off coke that's a payday, uh
On a private jet that's a mayday, uh
In South America on a vacay, uh
P on my snapback, choppin' grade-a, uh
None of these niggas ready for the melee, uh
Hundred cal make his body do the nay-nay
Leave a nigga face worse off than Shanaynay yeah
I am the God, I've been tellin' you niggas
I got a bird and a chopper in the trunk
Ven aquí, I will sell it to niggas
We can screw it and chop it
Machetes on deck, I will sever you niggas
Behind these bars, I'm El Chapo
Motorcycle out the cell on you niggas

Escúchame, chinga tu madre
Nunca me encontrarás
So para de mirar
No me controlas
Te controlo
Controlo a todos
Me respetan o se mueren
Soy el Chapo, let's go Sinaloa

I am the God (God, God, God, God, God, God, God)
El Chapo (woo, woo, woo, woo, woo, woo)
I am the God (God, God, God, God, God, God, God)
El Chapo (woo, woo, woo, woo, woo, woo)
Nigga, I am the God (God, God, God, God, God, God, God)

Nigga, I am the God
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Shondrae Crawford, Sonny Moore, Jayceon Terrell Taylor
Copyright: Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.




Back to: The Game


The Documentary 2.5 is the seventh studio album by American rapper the Game. It was released on October 16, 2015, by Blood Money Entertainment and eOne Music.

The album is the second half for the two-piece project that was divided from the first half of his seventh album The Documentary 2 (2015), which was released a week earlier. The album features guest appearances from will.i.am, Schoolboy Q, Jay Rock, Nas, DJ Quik, Busta Rhymes and Problem, among others. The album was supported by the single: "El Chapo" with Skrillex.
Performed By: The Game
Genre(s): West Coast hip hop, gangsta rap
Length: 73:50
Released: October 16th, 2015
Year: 2015

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