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The Game » Lookin at You
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	(Chorus: sung by Tracey Nelson) Walkin down the street, in my All Stars In my, khaki suit, doin what I do Walkin down the street, smokin, chronic In my black locs, lookin, AT you (The Game:) Guess who's back on the West coast tracks It's the motherfuckin 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 niggaz sellin your soul tryin to stay on top Bitch nigga check your Kotex, you niggaz ain't movin 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 motherfuckin most hated Keep rollin like gold Daytons Niggaz got the game fucked up like Hennessy with a Coke chaser You gotta deal with me, I'm the West coast saviour Niggaz think of me everytime they six-fo' scraper (Mac Minister:) What do you call a nigga who's overbearin 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 niggaz in the streets call him Cyrus The young don who is 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 (Chorus) (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 motherfuckin 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 niggaz 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 Throwin 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 seperated like Interscope and - hahaha Ohhh shit This some good ass motherfuckin weed California sticky green! This is the aftermath for the Aftermath West, coast!
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