True To The Game

Ay, yeah you, motherf**ker. You know who I'm talking to.

Yeah, you that motherf**ker that betrayed your homeboys and you ain't shit!

Yeah, you about to get your motherf**king ghetto pass revoked, motherf**ker.

Punk-ass mark, b*tch-made. Punk-ass trick in a basket...

You got caught up in the mix

It's the nigga, ya love to hate, with a new song

So what really goes on?

Nothing but a come-up, but ain't that a b*tch

They hate to see a young nigga rich

But I refuse to switch even though

Cause I can't move to the snow

Cause soon as y'all get some dough

Ya wanna put a white b*tch on your elbow

Moving out your neighborhood

But I walk through the ghetto, and the flavor's good

Little kids jumping on me

But you, you wanna be white and corny

Living way out

"Nigga go home", spray-painted on your house

Trying to be white or a Jew

But ask yourself, who are they to be equal to?

Get the hell out

Stop being, a Uncle Tom, you little sell-out

House nigga scum

Give something back to the place where you made it from

Before you end up broke

F**k around, and get your ghetto pass revoked

I ain't saying no names, you know who you are you little punk

Be true to the game

Yeah, motherf**ker. Yeah, you thought we forgot, huh?

Yeah, get a little money and moves out the neighborhood and shit.

But you still ain't shit

When you first start rhyming it started off slow, and then you start climbing

But it wasn't fast enough I guess, so you gave your other style a test

You was hardcore hip-hop

Now look at yourself, boy you done flip-flopped

Giving our music away to the mainstream

Don't you know they ain't down with the team?

They just sent they boss over

Put a bug in your ear, and now ya crossed over

On MTV, but they don't care

They'll have a new nigga next year

Ya out in the cold

No more white fans, and no more soul

And you might have a heart attack

When you find out the black folks don't want you back

And you know what's worse?

You was just like the nigga in the first verse

Stop sellin' out ya race

And wipe that stupid-ass smile off your face

Niggas always gotta show they teeth

Now I'ma be brief, be true to the game

Yeah motherf**ker, I see you got your fancy cars and shit, but you know what?

You still ain't shit. That's right, I caught you slipping.

You know I could've gat you, yeah, but I didn't even trip

A message to the Oreo cookie

Find a mirror, and take a look, G

Do you like what you see?

But you're quick to point the finger at me

You wanna be the big fish, you little guppy

Black man can't be no yuppie

You put on your suit and tie, and your big clothes

You don't associate with the Negroes

You wanna be just like Jack

But Jack, is calling you a nigga behind your back

So back off genius

I don't need you to correct my broken English

You know that's right

You ain't white

So stop holding your ass tight

Cause you can't pass

So why you keep trying to pass?

With your black ass

Mister Big

But in reality, you're shorter than a midge

You only got yourself to blame

Get a grip, Oreo, and be true to the game

And Ice Cube practices what he preaches.

He continues to live in South Central Los Angeles,

And he puts his money into projects that improve the neighborhood.

Be true to the game!