game - remedy lyrics
[the game]
as my, daytons spin, lowrider sittin low
hittin corners so hard you can taste my rims
rag top six-fo’, henny in the p-ssenger side
smokin chronic just (let me ride)
you would do it if my name was dre, second comin motherf-cker
throw it up for the king of l.a.
i’m known for makin b-tches take they clothes off
long as i’m from compton, california i could never go soft
i’m hard as a motherf-ckin ounce of raw
dribble rock like kobe bryant bounce the ball
f-ck the law!! feedin my son is a must
whip it soft, whip it hard, in crack we trust
why andrew jackson look high as f-ck on the 20, g answer
cocaine been around for centuries
since i’m young, black and rich, i’m the (public enemy)
ridin the b-ss drum, just blaze got the (remedy)
[chorus]
[scratched:] “now they got me in a cell” – chuck d
i got the remedy
[scratched:] “now they got me in a cell” – chuck d
aftermath got the remedy
[scratched:] “now they got me in a cell” – chuck d
n-gg- back up (back up) back up (back up)
‘fore you get your punk–ss smoked
[the game]
i ain’t no joke g, so don’t provoke me
i’m from the city of angels where that jacob watch is a trophy
and starin at that hollywood sign’ll get you straight jacked
(where you from fool?) better say you pro-black
causin walkin in roscoe’s wit’cha chain hangin
is like giuliani tryin to get rid of the gangbaners
now that ‘pac p-ssed, tryin to put us on death row
get ready for the aftermath
i run through the city like godzilla
doin mo’ damage than ice-t when he dropped (cop killer)
pull a shotty out the trunk of the chevy
there go another victim of a one-eight-seven
who’s the grim reaper wit’cha life in his hand
even the toughest n-gg-z run when my gun go… blam
so kick back and watch the b-tches dance
n.w.a. is back, now let me see your motherf-ckin hands
[chorus]
[the game]
i’m back by popular demand and so
all black interior on the cherry red six-fo’
n-gg-z endin they careers tryin to shut me up
actin like i traded in my khakis for a b-tton up
the west coast still dippin
game still bloodin, and snoop still crippin
so what you sayin loc? red and blue bandana
tied in a knot, as i creep through the chronic smoke
they say it ain’t good weed if you don’t choke
sh-t got my head spinnin like the hundred spokes
three wheelin through the neighborhood
system on blast, as the motherf-ckin one-time p-ss
the key to drivebys is aim steady
turn that bape hoody into motherf-ckin confetti
when you cross that enemy line
close your eyes, (parental discretion iz advised)
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