Lookin At You

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 motherf**king 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 niggas sellin your soul trying to stay on top

Bitch nigga check your Kotex

You niggas 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 motherf**king most hated

Keep rolling like gold Daytons

Niggas got the game f**ked up like Hennessy with a Coke chaser

You gotta deal with me I'm the West Coast savior

Niggas think of me every time they six-fo' scraper

What do you call a nigga who's overbearing

Belligerent foul defiant and very disrespectful

You call that nigga 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 nigga's infected with the Game virus

His oratorical skills are so impeccable

That niggas 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 motherf**king snare when it touch the beat

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 niggas

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 motherf**king weed

California sticky green

This is the aftermath for the Aftermath

West coast