Game – Lookin at You Lyrics

Produced By: Ervin "EP" Pope
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[Hook: sung by Tracey Nelson]
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

[The Game]
Guess who's back on the West coast tracks
It's the motherfucking 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 motherfucking most hated

Keep rolling like gold Daytons
Niggas got the game fucked 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


[Mac Minister]
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


[Hook]

[The Game]
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 motherfucking 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 motherfucking weed
California sticky green!
This is the aftermath for the Aftermath
West, coast!

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