Compton Compton - Lyrics - Untold Story - Game

Title: Compton Compton
Album: Untold Story
Artist: Game
Composer(s): Joseph Tom, Jayceon Taylor

Lyric:
Gangsta gangsta yeah
Shit I'm livin' gangsta gangsta shit, yeah

I'm from Compton, Compton, Murderville
You heard these niggaz is gangsters and they kill
Rob and steal, my niggaz will peel at will
For real they real, niggaz gon' feel this steel

Compton, Compton, Murderville
You heard these niggaz is gangsters and they kill
Rob and steal, my niggaz will peel at will
For real they real, niggaz gon' feel this steel

Walk with me through the ghetto where the packs get sold
And them niggaz sellin' the work ain't half as old
as the fiends and the hippies, same ones smokin' since the 60's
Everybody yellin' gimme, gimme

Every nigga in the hood, one hand on his jimmy
Other hand grip the semi, c'mon walk with me
Every ten houses, one got 'caine for sale
And I give you a dope track like my name Pharell

And you can get that stainless steel
Walk in my Chuck Taylors for a day, if you think it ain't f'real
When I buy rocks homey baguettes on my ring
And only neighborhood watch is my Tecno Marine

Keep a Mac on the block, I ain't talkin' 'bout Beans
QB in the hood and I'm far from Queens
The boys in the hood is always hard
So come through and get smoked like a Cuban cigar

I'm from Compton, Compton, Murderville
You heard these niggaz is gangsters, and they kill
Rob and steal, my niggaz will peel at will
For real they real, niggaz gon' feel this steel

Compton, Compton, Murderville
You heard these niggaz is gangsters, and they kill
Rob and steal, my niggaz will peel at will
For real they real, niggaz gon' feel this steel

I'm from Compton, Compton, a block from hell
And you can come get a bird for eleven
And we ain't got a penny for the reverend, a dime for a witness
Only church's in the hood sell chicken

Every nigga in the hood sell chickens move work like city buses
You fuckin' with the Hub City Hustler
The vans on the block won't touch us, the streets my home
So I move weight on the block like I'm Moses Malone

Bring the guns anywhere I roam, go with the chrome
And I hit all my shots, like I'm in the A.I. zone
And mob like Al Capone through N.W.A.'s home
Homes like Ed Jones will cripple your team up

In the home of Dr. Dre, Venus and Serena
Where 14 year olds pack ninas and drive Beamers
We ball up subpoenas, take niggaz to the cleaners
And you know what I'm talkin' about if y'all seen where

I'm from Compton, Compton, Murderville
You heard these niggaz is gangsters, and they kill
Rob and steal, my niggaz will peel at will
For real they real, niggaz gon' feel this steel

Compton, Compton, Murderville
You heard these niggaz is gangsters, and they kill
Rob and steal, my niggaz will peel at will
For real they real, niggaz gon' feel this steel

We drug dealin', but niggaz is squealin' fuck you rats
What more can I say, just kill 'em
Fuck 'em, the gun bust 'em, we just knock on wood
Now is this understood?

We drug dealin', but niggaz is squealin' fuck you rats
What more can I say, just kill 'em
Fuck 'em, the gun bust 'em, we just knock on wood
Now is this understood?

I mostly George when I whip, my supply is good
The man behind the bricks, I'm supplyin' the hood
Catch bodies like Pistol Pete passes on the wood
Benz parked by the fence, brick stashed in the hood

Top work by the inch, I bag it, it's gone
Ask Quik, we rock more than microphones
Some niggaz ball, some niggaz do what we do
And other niggaz sing for Cash Money like TQ

The block will heat and sink you hey dude
Cali ain't all palm trees, purple haze and sea dude
Lose your life tryin' to get these jewels
I keep the 40 cal wrapped in chrome like R2-D2

I'm from Compton, Compton, Murderville
You heard these niggaz is gangsters, and they kill
Rob and steal, my niggaz will peel at will
For real they real, niggaz gon' feel this steel

Compton, Compton, Murderville
You heard these niggaz is gangsters, and they kill

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Compton'S Lynchin - Lyrics - Compton'S Most Wanted

Title: Compton'S Lynchin
Artist: Compton'S Most Wanted
Composer(s): Andre Manuel, Johnny Guitar Watson, Terry Allen, Aaron Tyler

Lyric:
Compton's lynchin, motherfuckers with a left hook
So turn the Eiht on 80 as I start to cook
As my name stays terror when you're caught in the dark
I punk bitches and kill off all scary marks

So get a puff of the bomb as Compton shit
And watch the A double M pop in a second clip
And when I'm all finished unloadin'
I set the timer to 8 seconds, heads start explodin'

So punk get your shit in gear
Say your prayers, you're scared as Mike brings up the rear
Now you're caught in a trap and you can't escape
Made a bad mistake 'cause you dissed the Eiht

You broke the penalty, punk start payin'
And you're short, shorter than short, know what I'm sayin'?
So step back, sorry clown, you ain't hittin'
You gets no juice 'cause Compton's lynchin

Compton, no, please don't, now I'm lynchin motherfuckers
Compton, no, please don't, now I'm lynchin motherfuckers

Fools gang way, ain't no time to play pussy
Eiht is back to attack so don't push me
Don't try to play with my rhyme, you can't stand this
I'm from Compton so I don't give a fuck if you ban this

I got you trapped in a motherfuckin' straight coat
I guess you just cant talk with a clenched throat
So punk don't try to bargain with your rhymes
Playin' me close will mean you're crossin' Eiht's line

And that's not good for your health
'Cause when it comes to Eiht and Mike, you'll get dealt with
The motherfuckin' power after hour
No air to breath 'cause all the suckers, we devour

So hang up your dreams of makin' snaps
You won't make a penny with your fucked up raps
So step back or it's your title I'm clinchin'
Punk ass fool 'cause Compton's lynchin

Compton, no, please don't, now I'm lynchin motherfuckers
Compton, now wait a minute, hey man, now I'm lynchin motherfuckers
Compton, stop, stop, stop, stop, now I'm lynchin motherfuckers
Compton, now I'm lynchin motherfuckers

I guess I'll start droppin' these fools
'Cause they lyrics be like offendin' me
So you can say that Eiht's your worst enemy
So make tracks or it's your fuckin' hood, I'll blow down
One on one in the Compton streets we'll have a showdown

And when it comes to Eiht, it's quite simple
Put the trigger, bullet smacks dead in your temple
No explanations on why I did it
When they ask, I tell 'em 'cause the punk bullshitted

So, now I leave his homie's in grief
I can't just stand here and trip off a sucker who got beef
And the Eiht ain't bullshittin' G
I got to kill off the sucker before the sucker gets me

So raise the fuck up 'cause the Eiht ain't trippin'
Before I let a sucker slide, he's already slippin'
And what's left is a sucker caught up in suspension
Word 'em up G 'cause Compton's lynchin

Compton, no, please don't, now I'm lynchin motherfuckers
Compton, stop, stop, stop, stop, now I'm lynchin motherfuckers

You give up? I see you're sweatin' like crazy
Eiht'll stay cool 'cause fool you tried to faze me
Your rhymes are washed up, your beats are fucked
You're just a victim punk, you'll get stuck

By a brother with a evil vengeance
And when I say Eiht kills, boy I meant this
And if you're caught in the crossfire, it's like that
I mean the shootin' of lyrics or the damn gatt

And geah, Eiht is back
Teamin' up with the Mike on the sneak attack
So be prepared to get gaffled in the mix
As my DJ Mike T fuck with the turntable tricks

So take flicks 'cause you're all on his dick
And it's makin' me sick as he start to do a trick
So raise the fuck up, it's pieces of your brain that I'm pinchin'
Word 'em up G, Compton's lynchin

Compton, oh oh , get your ass up, what's up nigga?
Now I'm lynchin motherfuckers
Compton, shit, punk ass nigga, now I'm lynchin motherfuckers
Compton, surprise nigga, now I'm lynchin motherfuckers

Compton, Compton's in the house, motherfucker
Compton's in the house, motherfuckers, now I'm lynchin motherfuckers
Compton's in the house, motherfuckers
Compton, now I'm lynchin motherfuckers

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a47317222ea142b64ae324b3048c985c

Born &Amp; Raised In Compton - Lyrics - Dj Quik

Title: Born &Amp; Raised In Compton
Artist: Dj Quik
Composer(s): Isbell Alvertis, Isaac Hayes, David Blake

Lyric:
Now everybody wants to know the truth about a brother named Quik
I come from the school of the sly, wicked and the slick
A lotta people already know exactly where it's at
'Cause it's the home of the jackers and the crack, Compton

Yeah, that's the name of my hometown
I'm goin' down in the town where my name is all around
The suckers just be havin' a fit and that's a pity
But I ain't doin' nothin' but

See, my lyrics I'm doublin' up and provin' to suckers that I can throw
I'm passin' a natural ten or four or six or eight before I go
Yes, I'm definitely freestylin', all the while still profilin'
Never a trickster, DJ Quikster steals the show

So that's how I'm livin', I do as I please, you see
A younger brother that's up on reality
'Cause everybody knows you have to be stompin'
If you're born and raised in Compton

Born and raised
Born and raised
Born and raised, born and raised
Born and raised in Compton
Born and raised
Born and raised
Born
Compton

Now Compton is the place where the homeboys chill, you see
But then I found that it wasn't no place for me
'Cause way back in the day somebody musta wanted me to quit
Because they broke in my house and cold stole my shit

They musta thought that I was gonna play the punk role
Just because my equipment got stole
But I ain't goin' out like no sucker-ass clown
They found they couldn't keep a dope nigga down

So here's some bass in your face, muthafucka silly sucker
Ass clocker, now you're duckin' 'cause you can't stop a brother
Like the Quiksta because I'm true to the game
You're lame and things ain't gonna never be the same

'Cause a nigga like the Quik is takin' over
I really don't think I should have to explain it
Oh yeah, I'm a dog but my name ain't Rover
And I'm the kinda nigga that's feelin' no pain

Sometimes I have to wear the bullet-proof vest
Because I got the CPT sign written across my chest
A funky dope brother never ceases to impress
My name is DJ Quik, so you can fuck the rest

I'm comin' like this and I'm comin' directly
'Cause suckers get dain-bramaged if I'm doin' damage quite effectively
Rhymin' is a battlezone and suckers have no win
'Cause I'm a veteran from the C O M P T O N, kick it

Born and raised
Born and raised
Born and raised, born and raised
Born and raised in Compton
Born and raised
Born and raised
Born born born and raised in Compton
Compton, Compton, Compton, Compton
Compton, Compton, Compton, Compton, Compton

Yo, check this shit out, right about now
I'd like to send a shout out to my buddy Teddy Bear
What's up nigga? What's up KK? My buddy D
We got AMG most definitely in the house
What's up pretty Greg and big baby Brian cold chillin'
Talkin' about the Armstrong pack, straight got my muthafuckin' back

To my buddy, No Way, what's up, fool
Roche is in the house, my buddy Donzelli
You know what's happenin', fool, what's up Itch?
And Tony Lang is chillin', to my nigga gangsta Wayne
And my engineer Joe gettin' busy on the flo'
And last but not least I'd like to thank Shabby Blue
And we out, peace

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578f41cc4132620a4db6a5079841fe9d

Compton 4 Life - Lyrics - Compton'S Most Wanted

Title: Compton 4 Life
Artist: Compton'S Most Wanted
Composer(s): Mc Eihl A Simon

Lyric:
Life, life, life

It's the city of jackers, swindlers, pimps and hoes
And niggas that bang and slang in kilo's
Where the rule is 'Fool, we don't play that'
Bomb to your motherfuckin' lip, watch it get fat

4 deep in a car on a mission
Load up the glock and watch it start spittin'
Nobody understands the gang mentality
I don't give a fuck, just want to see some casualties

And we'll beat your ass down with the quickness
Busters know that they can't get with this
Put the sweat down on a fool at the bus stop
Wrong set, wrong move, get smoothed popped

Gots to make our money on the corner
Try to squeeze, nigga please, a straight goner
Survival of the fittest with a gun or a knife
Geah 'cause it's Compton 4 life

Hey man, what's up, nigga? This [Incomprehensible]
Compton, Compton
Hey man, what's up, nigga? This [Incomprehensible]
Compton
(Life, life, life, life)

One more 'Drive-by Miss Daisy'
It's for the hood and nigga, we straight crazy
Fools can't cope when we belling
Throw up your hood 'cause it's Compton we yellin'

Still sellin' that yayo, oh no
Watch out for the tape that's made by 5-0
Look into the eyes of the 12 gauge barrel
My t-shirt and khaki's with house shoes is the apparel

Just call me a nigga with a problem
Better yet a troubleshooter 'cause I'ma shoot the enemy
When I see the white of his eyes
You'll have a funeral every night
'Cause one of your homies dies

Geah, it don't mean nothin' to us, ready to buss
A thousand motherfuckers and we kick up much dust
Another dead, chalk up one for the hood tonight
Geah, right, nigga 'cause it's Compton 4 life
(Life, life, life)

It's the city where everybodies in prison
Niggas keep takin' shit 'cause ain't nobody givin'
So another punk fool I must beat
Learned the tricks of the trade from the street

Anxious to put the jack down, ready and willin'
One more Compton drive-by killin'
One more nigga that got jacked 'cause he's a dummy
One more fool that got smoked for the money

And we got evil ass bitches just like witches
Got to keep the hoes because they set up snitches
Niggas run off at the mouth, here goes the nine
Peel your cap if you wanna drop the dime

Go to jail, hell, might as well be off with the head
So I bail from the police officer
'Cause if I surrender to the white
It won't be no more Compton 4 life, geah

Hey man, what's up, nigga? This [Incomprehensible]
Compton, Compton
Hey man, what's up, nigga? This [Incomprehensible]
Compton
(Life, life, life, life)

Hey man, what's up, nigga? This [Incomprehensible]
Compton, Compton
Hey man, what's up, nigga? This [Incomprehensible]
Compton's in da house
(Life, life, life, life)

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f02ea23ef282a00804e1355aea73561d

Compton 2 Fillmoe - Lyrics - Game

Title: Compton 2 Fillmoe
Artist: Game
Composer(s): Joseph Tom, Jayceon Taylor

Lyric:
Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay, our chains hang, L.A. they can't bang
Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In L.A. they havin' problems, the Bay we pop collars

Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay we pop hollows, L.A. they pop hollows
Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay we pop bottles, L.A. they pop bottles

They can't cop what the bricks'll cost
But we stay in the lane to maintain in the 6 to floss
Leather gloves with the tips to toss
But the money was made from conversation had to clip the boss

Smash down at the V.I.P.
Street smarts is crucial for young niggaz in the CX-3
Drop Jag with the price to pay
'Cause the bags was heavy my chain swangin' like a ice capade

Got the feds lookin' twice this way
'Cause we shuffle the P's in different places that the [unverified] name
Compton to Fillmoe man the game is real
When you turn 15 get your stainless steel

Whole squad been trained to kill, we official
And switch to get rich now we after the meals
Hard times got cakes for 3
When it's havin' a bundle we break bread for the safe and flee nigga

Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay, our chains hang, L.A. they can't bang
Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In L.A. they havin' problems, the Bay we pop collars

Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay we pop hollows, L.A. they pop hollows
Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay we pop bottles, L.A. they pop bottles

I got guns, guns, guns, guns, guns all over the club
We in V.I.P. strapped, security know that
25 deep, guns up under the throwback
That new R. Kelly shit sound like Bobby Womack

Black Wall Street in HURR, nigga where the hoes at
We got sour diesel, three cases of Hypnotiq
And more guns than the Nickerson Projects
Niggaz don't want beef with me
'Cause they know they gotta pay for talkin' shit but the sheets is free

And ain't nuttin' to shoot the club up
You don't want drama in this motherfucker throw them dubs up
Jacob got the wrists on chill
And N.W.A. chain glow like the memory of Ill Will
Relax your mind and let your drawers feel free
You're now rollin' to the sound of the Game and JT

Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay, our chains hang, L.A. they can't bang
Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In L.A. they havin' problems, the Bay we pop collars

Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay we pop hollows, L.A. they pop hollows
Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay we pop bottles, L.A. they pop bottles

But you can't come with the rest of her friends
Cause you know I'm a boss and won't play cause she short on my ends
Make rounds from the back of the Benz
With the [unverified] that kid with frog eyes with the corners to bend

The things we go through I'm beatin' ya brains
Got some homies next do' and I picked up the Game
While they knockin' on the do' I get deep in ya dame
Gotta charge you a G just for speakin' my name

I'm not eatin' your chocha or payin' for the coach ma
I'm a pimp like 50, the nigga to leave you broke ma
6 in the mornin', you stretchin' on the sofa
Singin', "Ain't No Nigga" like Foxy Brown and Hova

I fuck 'em dogstyle with Billys and Novas
With or without chaffeurs, I make 'em fuck the both of us
You know what it is, the gangster's back
And I keep my banger at where my chain hang at
I'm ghetto

Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay, our chains hang, L.A. they can't bang
Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In L.A. they havin' problems, the Bay we pop collars

Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay we pop hollows, L.A. they pop hollows
Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay we pop bottles, L.A. they pop bottles

Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay, our chains hang, L.A. they can't bang
Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In L.A. they havin' problems, the Bay we pop collars

Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay we pop hollows, L.A. they pop hollows
Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay we pop bottles, L.A. they pop bottles

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6ef95a6d2fe5f81177ad151f4a850adb

Compton 2 Fillmore - Lyrics - Game

Title: Compton 2 Fillmore
Artist: Game
Composer(s): Joseph Tom, Jayceon Taylor

Lyric:
Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay, our chains hang, L.A. they can't bang
Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In L.A. they havin' problems, the Bay we pop collars

Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay we pop hollows, L.A. they pop hollows
Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay we pop bottles, L.A. they pop bottles

They can't cop what the bricks'll cost
But we stay in the lane to maintain in the 6 to floss
Leather gloves with the tips to toss
But the money was made from conversation had to clip the boss

Smash down at the V.I.P.
Street smarts is crucial for young niggaz in the CX-3
Drop Jag with the price to pay
'Cause the bags was heavy my chain swangin' like a ice capade

Got the feds lookin' twice this way
'Cause we shuffle the P's in different places that the [unverified] name
Compton to Fillmoe man the game is real
When you turn 15 get your stainless steel

Whole squad been trained to kill, we official
And switch to get rich now we after the meals
Hard times got cakes for 3
When it's havin' a bundle we break bread for the safe and flee nigga

Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay, our chains hang, L.A. they can't bang
Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In L.A. they havin' problems, the Bay we pop collars

Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay we pop hollows, L.A. they pop hollows
Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay we pop bottles, L.A. they pop bottles

I got guns, guns, guns, guns, guns all over the club
We in V.I.P. strapped, security know that
25 deep, guns up under the throwback
That new R. Kelly shit sound like Bobby Womack

Black Wall Street in HURR, nigga where the hoes at
We got sour diesel, three cases of Hypnotiq
And more guns than the Nickerson Projects
Niggaz don't want beef with me
'Cause they know they gotta pay for talkin' shit but the sheets is free

And ain't nuttin' to shoot the club up
You don't want drama in this motherfucker throw them dubs up
Jacob got the wrists on chill
And N.W.A. chain glow like the memory of Ill Will
Relax your mind and let your drawers feel free
You're now rollin' to the sound of the Game and JT

Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay, our chains hang, L.A. they can't bang
Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In L.A. they havin' problems, the Bay we pop collars

Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay we pop hollows, L.A. they pop hollows
Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay we pop bottles, L.A. they pop bottles

But you can't come with the rest of her friends
Cause you know I'm a boss and won't play cause she short on my ends
Make rounds from the back of the Benz
With the [unverified] that kid with frog eyes with the corners to bend

The things we go through I'm beatin' ya brains
Got some homies next do' and I picked up the Game
While they knockin' on the do' I get deep in ya dame
Gotta charge you a G just for speakin' my name

I'm not eatin' your chocha or payin' for the coach ma
I'm a pimp like 50, the nigga to leave you broke ma
6 in the mornin', you stretchin' on the sofa
Singin', "Ain't No Nigga" like Foxy Brown and Hova

I fuck 'em dogstyle with Billys and Novas
With or without chaffeurs, I make 'em fuck the both of us
You know what it is, the gangster's back
And I keep my banger at where my chain hang at
I'm ghetto

Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay, our chains hang, L.A. they can't bang
Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In L.A. they havin' problems, the Bay we pop collars

Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay we pop hollows, L.A. they pop hollows
Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay we pop bottles, L.A. they pop bottles

Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay, our chains hang, L.A. they can't bang
Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In L.A. they havin' problems, the Bay we pop collars

Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay we pop hollows, L.A. they pop hollows
Compton to Fillmore here we go again
In the Bay we pop bottles, L.A. they pop bottles

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11378693ef53b13688cc31ef7e5c602e

Streetz Of Compton - Lyrics - West Coast Resurrection - Game

Title: Streetz Of Compton
Album: West Coast Resurrection
Artist: Game
Composer(s): Jayceon Taylor, Joseph Tom

Lyric:
G-Man Stan, yeah, mayne
I see you done put together one of them tracks mayne
Let me get on down here to the C P T
Better known as Compton mayne
Get my young homey The Game, y'knahmean?
Young nigga up outta Compton mayne, y'knahmsayin'?
This 2002, we gon' see what it do mayne
Y'knahmean? Yarra

Now everybody wanna know the truth about a nigga named Game
I come from the hub and every ghetto ain't the same
A lot of people already know exactly where it's at
'Cuz it's the home of the jackers and the crack
(Compton)
Yeah, that's the name of my hometown
I'm goin' down in the town where my name is all around
A nigga just be hatin' and shit, that's a pity
But I ain't doin' nuttin' but claimin' my city

Where they actin' a fool and they carry the tool
Them sick dudes in the streets of Compton
Where I found The Game, he was stackin' his change
To maintain in the streets of Compton

Took a trip to the Sco, got low for the dough
In Fillmoe from the streets of Compton
Now we stackin' the bread, never run from the feds
They shed treads in the streets of Compton

See my lyrics are double or nothin' provin' to suckers
I can throw 'em
Pass the natural 10 to 4 and six-eight before I go
Not really into freestylin' or tryin' to promote violence
But they gotta know about the five-five-fo', so
That's how I'm livin', I do as I please B
A young gangsta put in work on these Cali streets
And everybody know, that you gotta be stompin'
If you're born and raised in Compton

Where they actin' a fool and they carry the tool
Them sick dudes in the streets of Compton
Where I found The Game, he was stackin' his change
To maintain in the streets of Compton

Took a trip to the Sco, got low for the dough
In Fillmoe from the streets of Compton
Now we stackin' the bread, never run from the feds
They shed treads in the streets of Compton

Now Compton is a place, where all my niggaz chill dog
'Til I found out, the streets get real dog
'Bout a year ago, somebody musta wanted me to die
'Cuz they kicked in the door, and gave the young kid five
They musta thought that I was gon' play the bitch role
'Cuz I lived through fo' five six holes
But I ain't goin' out like no faggot-ass clown
They found, they couldn't keep a gangsta nigga down

So here's the burner in your face motherfucker silly sucker
Ass clucker now you're duckin' 'cuz you can't stop a Y.G.
Gangsta, 'cuz I'm true to my game
You're lame, and thangs ain't gon' never be the same
'Cuz a nigga like the Game is takin' over
I really don't think I should have to explain
Oh yeah, I'm a dog but my name ain't Rover
And I'm the kinda nigga that's feelin' no pain

Sometimes I have to wear a bulletproof vest
Because I got the C-P-T style written across my chest
A gangsta motherfucker never ceasin' to impress
My name is young Game so you can fuck, the rest
I'm comin' like this and I'm comin' directly
'Cuz niggaz gettin' all stirred up, I'm doin' damage quite effectively
Rhymin' is a battlezone and niggaz can't win
'Cuz I'm a gangsta from the C O M P T O N

Where they actin' a fool, and they carry the tool
Them sick dudes in the streets of Compton
Where I found The Game, he was stackin' his change
To maintain in the streets of Compton

Took a trip to the Sco, got low for the dough
In Fillmoe from the streets of Compton
Now we stackin' the bread, never run from the feds
They shed treads in the streets of Compton

[Unverified]

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749a8d0411f0237b2dc9c510d32fdb81

Jus Lyke Compton - Lyrics - Dj Quik

Title: Jus Lyke Compton
Artist: Dj Quik
Composer(s): Robert Bacon, David Blake

Lyric:
Finally out the motherfuckin' C P T
Off to other cities and shit, no longer just an underground hit
Moving thangs, a local nigga made good
And made a name off of making tapes for niggaz in the hood
And now, let me tell a little story
About the places that I been to and the shit that I been through
Like fightin' and shootouts and bangin' and shit
All because a nigga made a hit, check it

Nineteen ninety one, it was double or nothin' that a nigga would hit
Then we broke out with the fonky shit
About bitches and niggaz and gettin' drunken off that bud
I was doing the shit they hadn't heard of
But foolish was I to think that it wasn't no other cities like this
And that they didn't like this
That Compton was the home of a foot in yo ass, where you got blast
And now that's just a thing of the past

Let me tell ya why firsthand, we did a show up in Oakland
And niggaz was kickin' up sand, to them bangin' ain't nothin' new
And slangin' ain't nothin' new
And for every nigga we done shot they done shot two
Straight through and on since the sixties before I was born
Families of young niggaz mourn
So I'm just letting you know
That if ya plan to take a trip to the bay keep your hand on the clip

Because Oakland
(It's jus lyke Compton)
Yeah, I'm telling y'all Oakland
(It's jus lyke Compton for y'all)

Moving on to St. Louis, where the country is fucked
With gold teeth ain't hey mouth, but they still know what's up
Where it's hot as a motherfucker, hot enough to make ya cuss
That's why I kept my ass on the bus
But later on, when it cooled off we came down
And met a couple of friends, who put us up on the St. Louis cap
The Smith Center, with Big Bob, Little Steve, Tojo, Biss and Rich
And a couple of bitches

Then they took us to a man named Gus in a store
He put me down with a herringbone and shoes galore
That's when I started thinking that this wasn't like home
But then they had to prove me wrong
'Cuz later that night after we did the show
We went back to the after set, and wouldn't ya know
Yeah, Bloods and Crips start scrapping and shootin' in Missouri?
Damn, how could this happen?

Now St. Louis
(It's jus lyke Compton)
Yeah y'all, St. Louis
(It's jus lyke Compton for y'all)

I don't think they know, they too crazy for their own good
They need to stop watchin' that Colors and Boyz in the Hood
Too busy claiming Sixties, tryin' to be raw
And never ever seen the Shaw
But now, back to the story that I'm tellin'
We packed up the tour bus one more time and started bailin'
When we arrived I saw red and blue sweat suits
When I'm thinkin' 'bout horse donkey and cowboy boots

I guess Texas ain't no different from the rest
And San Antonio, was just waitin' to put us to the test
And before it was over the shit got deep
A nigga got shot in the face, and was dead in the street
Then they came in the club thinkin' of scrappin'
Little did they know that we was packin'
Yeah, we was puttin' 'em down and squaring the rest, shit
I even had to wear the bulletproof vest

Now San Antonio
(It's jus lyke Compton)
Yeah, San Antonio
(It's jus lyke Compton for y'all)

After a month on the road
We came home and I can safely say
That L.A. is a much better place to stay
How could a bunch of niggaz in a town like this
Have such a big influence on niggaz so far away?
But still my story ain't over 'cuz I got one more to tell
And the people of Colorado, they know it well
It was all in the news and if you don't remember
I had this show I did in Denver

With a punk ass promoter in a bunk ass skating rink
Bitches was loving it, but niggaz was shovin' and shit
To the front of the stage to throw their gang signs
But I'm getting paid so I didn't pay it no mind
Then I poured out my brew onto their face and chest
Then they start throwin' soda, and fuckin' up my guests
When it was over two niggaz needed stitches
Got cracked in they jaw for being punk ass bitches

Now Denver
(It's jus lyke Compton)
Yeah y'all, Denver
(They wanna be like Compton, bitch)

And ya know that Oakland
(It's jus lyke Compton)
Yeah y'all, St. Louis
(It's jus lyke Compton)

Uh-huh, San Antonio
(It's jus lyke Compton)
Yeah, and Denver
(They wanna be like Compton, punk ass niggaz)
I thought ya knew
(Yeah)

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4068ced7ce2f190764c5c96fa363af1a

Hustlers - Lyrics - Hip Hop Is Dead - Nas

Title: Hustlers
Album: Hip Hop Is Dead
Artist: Nas
Composer(s): Andre Romell Young, Marsha Ambrosius, Nasir Jones, Michael A Elizondo Jr., Marvin Paul Ambrosius, Jayceon Terrell Taylor

Lyric:
Yeah
Dre, he a Compton-Compton O.G.
Nas, he a QB-QB true G
Do the history

Way before The Firm, like back in the day
Nas was the first New York **** rappin' with Dre
So of course I got a track to bring it back to your face
The one kid that would've been Aftermath that got away

But we still get together like every several years
To sprinkle, a little bit of Heaven for your ears
Relax sippin' Calico in Rio, stupid ****
Low-key, know G's, but it's still Gucci luggage

I love Cape Cod, and watchin' fly **** with gray eyes
Wrestle in a tub of KY to get my day by
I like to celebrate, why? 'Cause I can vision
Collages and images of my lies with no regret to hate

So every breath I take, is all about the rules
It's hard for you to breathe like you at high altitude
So crack the Patrón, it's on heathens, The God's back
Hard body, Mr. Jones never leavin'

Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders
Make that cake, cop two five fivers
Pimps and players, platinum diamonds
East to West Coast we riders

Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders
Make that cake, cop two five fivers
Pimps and players, platinum diamonds
East to West coasting, oh yeah

He a Compton-Compton O.G.
Mix that with a QB-QB true G
What you got's a **** of some different ghetto blocks
West Coast kill the tracks, East Coast gunshots

He a Compton-Compton O.G.
Mix that with a QB-QB true G
What you got's a **** of some different ghetto blocks
West Coast kill the tracks, East Coast gun

1995, eleven years from the day
I'm in the record shop with choices to make
'Illmati' on the top shelf, 'The Chronic' on the left homie
Wanna cop both but only got a twenty on me

So **** it, I stole both, spent the twenty on a dub sack
Ripped the package off 'Illmatic' and bumped that
For my **** it was too complex when Nas rhymed
I was the only Compton **** with a 'New York State of Mind'

Inside the dope house bottlin' up sherm, bangin' The Firm
Dre was king then so I waited my turn
Fast forward, now I'm makin' 'em burn
Ended my peers careers, hollered at Nas, a hard lesson was learned

So I reconciled my differences like he did with Jigga
I stopped beefin' with ****, 'cause I'm 'Ether' to ****
Comb the earth 'til there's no one left
'If I Ruled the World' I summons all you weak rap **** to death

He a Compton-Compton O.G.
Mix that with a QB-QB true G
What you got's a **** of some different ghetto blocks
West Coast kill the tracks, East Coast gunshots

Yo, the Jordans sportin'
Come off the dice game with a fortune walkin', you a walkin' coffin'
The musket I tucked it, you bluff it I bust it
You're sideways talkin', so I lay often

I wait patient, to duct tape hatin'
****, get bucked ****
Pluck ashes of Cuban cigars, you foolin' with Nas
That's my name and I came with Rugers this time

And if I'm sane that 'Soul Plane' movie's the bomb
Word to my mom's name tattooed to my arm
You can't revolve me, embalm me, calm me or harm me
Rob me or dodge these bullets I'm bustin'

See that's malarky you yappin'
I open up the tripod to put the Gatling on, and I start clappin'
Nasty man, from baggin' grams and runnin' from cops
To a mill' on the hand, a mill' on the watch, I'm **** with Doc

Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders
Make that cake, cop two five fivers
Pimps and players, platinum diamonds
East to West Coast we riders

Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders
Make that cake, cop two five fivers
Pimps and players, platinum diamonds
East to West Coast, oh yeah

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59cfddc9e1cfd86780a1922bd3572c96

Compton - Lyrics - Doctor's Advocate - Game

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Raised In Compton - Lyrics - Compton'S Most Wanted

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Born And Raised In Compton - Lyrics - Game

Title: Born And Raised In Compton
Artist: Game
Composer(s): Joseph Marcelle Tom, Jayceon Terrell Taylor

Lyric:
Aight

Now, everybody wanna know the truth about a nigga named Game
I come from the hub and every ghetto ain't the same
A lot of people already know exactly where it's at
'Cause it's the home of the jackers and the crack, Compton

Yeah, that's the name of my hometown
I'm goin' down in the town where my name is all around
And niggaz just be hatin' and shit, that's a pity
But I ain't doin' nuttin' but claimin' my city

See my lyrics are double or nothin' provin' to suckers I can throw 'em
Pass the natural ten to four and six-eight before I go
Not really into freestylin' or tryin' to promote violence
But they gotta know about the five-five-fo', so

And that's how I'm livin', I do as I please B
A young gangsta put in work on these Cali streets
And everybody knows that you gotta be stompin'
If you're born and raised in Compton

Born and raised, born and raised
Born and raised, born and raised
Born and raised in Compton

Born and raised, born and raised
Born and raised, born and raised
Born and raised in Compton

Now, Compton is a place, where all my niggaz chill, dog
'Til I found out the streets get real dog
'Bout a year ago, somebody musta wanted me to die
'Cause they kicked in the door and gave the young kid five

They musta thought that I was gon' play the bitch role
'Cause I lived through fo' five six holes
But I ain't goin' out like no fagot-ass clown
They found, they couldn't keep a gangsta nigga down

So, here's the burner in your face, motherfucker, silly sucker
Ass clucker now you're duckin' cause you can't stop
A Y.G. gangsta 'cause I'm true to my game
You're lame, and thangs ain't gon' never be the same

'Cause a nigga like the Game is takin' over
I really don't think I should have to explain
Oh yeah, I'm a dog but my name ain't Rover
And I'm the kinda nigga that's feelin' no pain

Sometimes I have to wear a bulletproof vest
Because I got the CPT style written across my chest
A gangsta motherfucker never ceasin' to impress
My name is Young Game, so you can fuck, the rest

I'm comin' like this and I'm comin' directly
'Cause niggaz gettin' all stirred up, I'm doin' damage quite effectively
Rhymin' is a battle zone and niggaz can't win
'Cause I'm a gangsta from the C O M P T O N

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9cadad0bdd8fc8ce2a9c5e413849eff4

Born &Amp; Raised In Compton (Raised As A G) - Lyrics - Untold Story Volume II - Game

Title: Born &Amp; Raised In Compton (Raised As A G)
Album: Untold Story Volume II
Artist: Game
Composer(s): Joseph Marcelle Tom, Jayceon Terrell Taylor

Lyric:
Aight

Now, everybody wanna know the truth about a nigga named Game
I come from the hub and every ghetto ain't the same
A lot of people already know exactly where it's at
'Cause it's the home of the jackers and the crack, Compton

Yeah, that's the name of my hometown
I'm goin' down in the town where my name is all around
And niggaz just be hatin' and shit, that's a pity
But I ain't doin' nuttin' but claimin' my city

See my lyrics are double or nothin' provin' to suckers I can throw 'em
Pass the natural ten to four and six-eight before I go
Not really into freestylin' or tryin' to promote violence
But they gotta know about the five-five-fo', so

And that's how I'm livin', I do as I please B
A young gangsta put in work on these Cali streets
And everybody knows that you gotta be stompin'
If you're born and raised in Compton

Born and raised, born and raised
Born and raised, born and raised
Born and raised in Compton

Born and raised, born and raised
Born and raised, born and raised
Born and raised in Compton

Now, Compton is a place, where all my niggaz chill, dog
'Til I found out the streets get real dog
'Bout a year ago, somebody musta wanted me to die
'Cause they kicked in the door and gave the young kid five

They musta thought that I was gon' play the bitch role
'Cause I lived through fo' five six holes
But I ain't goin' out like no fagot-ass clown
They found, they couldn't keep a gangsta nigga down

So, here's the burner in your face, motherfucker, silly sucker
Ass clucker now you're duckin' cause you can't stop
A Y.G. gangsta 'cause I'm true to my game
You're lame, and thangs ain't gon' never be the same

'Cause a nigga like the Game is takin' over
I really don't think I should have to explain
Oh yeah, I'm a dog but my name ain't Rover
And I'm the kinda nigga that's feelin' no pain

Sometimes I have to wear a bulletproof vest
Because I got the CPT style written across my chest
A gangsta motherfucker never ceasin' to impress
My name is Young Game, so you can fuck, the rest

I'm comin' like this and I'm comin' directly
'Cause niggaz gettin' all stirred up, I'm doin' damage quite effectively
Rhymin' is a battle zone and niggaz can't win
'Cause I'm a gangsta from the C O M P T O N

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58984a75be5e6703ab6ba6b21f1f404d

Straight Check'N Em - Lyrics - Compton'S Most Wanted

Title: Straight Check'N Em
Artist: Compton'S Most Wanted
Composer(s): Andre Manuel, Terry Allen, Aaron Tyler

Lyric:
I'm in the gangsta stroll, so you better run hide
Fools on slide, so keep your kids inside
Explicit words in this rhyme I wrote
Ain't no jack move fool so please don't
Demonstrate your style is weak you can't compete
And just like a girl, get freaked
It's the big ninety-one and Eiht's coming
Compton criminal fool so start running
And please stop biting my stuff
As the rhyme gets rough you done had enough
Of the Eiht, the gangsta mack, the pimp hustla
And pistol whip a weak busta
Suckers run up and get slapped
Damn, I thought you was smarter then that
Then to dis the brother who is Compton stepping
Microphone is kept as the murder weapon
I'm straight Checkn 'Em

Check this out
Check this out
Check this out
Check this out

No shorts are taken, I give it to you long and slow
Hard fools, drop your guard
No your not prepared, your scared, no time to sleep
Cant bargain with your rap, cause its cheap
And if I have to show, like Rambro
And snap a neck with some Compton effect
And get buck wild sucker
And serve em all like cluckers
You just cant hang with your weak style
You slip right off a the pile
To me your just another pretender
So wave the white flag, boy surrender
And if you a female species
Tryin' to gank then girl you'll get these. Famous vapors, walk in
Papers, see you later
You little crooked alligator
You gets no juice
And if you scheme on my team then I'll cut you loose
You can't handle the format
Punk, I'll use you as a doormat
I'm straight checkn em

Check this out
Check this out
Check this out
Check this out

I puts my foot down, so all the suckers get clowned
As the MC Eiht steps from the underground
A villain from the city under siege
Where the brothers jack, girlies skeeze
I'm breaking them off proper
And taking no B.S. from a copper
Fools on my tip keep sweating me
And trying to gank my Compton melody
You can't withstand the powerful blow
From a brother with a def wish
Others I smother and change their description
Wait a minute did I mention
That I flow punk fools with one swing
Bow down to the Compton king-
Pin, the record spins and that spells the end
For you my friend
I'm straight Checkn em

Check this out
Check this out
Check this out
Check this out

Lets get our scraps on boy
And the Eiht'll destroy
And play you just like a toy
Fools try and they can't hang cause they raps just simp
I thought so wimp
I'm blasting, peeling caps, making snaps
For the violence in my raps
Gotta pack tools cause fools don't wanna back on my tip
Geah, but that's cool
I give em a count backwards ten to one
Then they tale is done
I give up no slack
Because a sucker tried to punk my style and call it wack
Now I'm back to attack
And give em hype, just like they finding for crack
So come on, come on, cause Eiht and Mike'll keep deckn' em
Geah fool, straight checkn em

Check this out
Check this out
Check this out
Check this out

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3fda6456501563f8f8b2b7cc39dfcabb

Game Get Live - Lyrics - Untold Story Volume II - Game

Title: Game Get Live
Album: Untold Story Volume II
Artist: Game
Composer(s): Joseph Marcelle Tom, Jayceon Terrell Taylor

Lyric:
You can catch five or catch me in the C.L.5
Whatever way dog, the game get live
Keepin' it gangsta in a P.D. city velor
Late night, I'm in Dublin's and I got myself a four

The hood love me, hood rats gotta hug me
Pop ex, spark the buba, the shit get ugly
Rock the mic anywhere and I ain't talkin' 'bout a concert dog
Talkin 'bout ten niggaz in converse dog

Get it crackin' like we out in the yard and the warden's watchin'
Only difference is the whores is watchin'
Still love to see a nigga, roll up on 20's
Hop in that six-four, roll up on Bentley's like

I'm a gangsta bay-bee, from the C.P.T.
Run with the pound like I'm from D.P.G.
If it's beef, you C-Murder like it ain't no limit
And I represent the P like Russell Simmons

I'm a neighborhood superstar, get it, right
Got it? Good, okay
It's the black socks and get low we get dough
In the yay they pimp hoes, in Compton we six-fo'

I'm a neighborhood superstar, get it, right
Got it? Good, okay
It's the black socks and get low we get dough
In the yay they pimp hoes, in Compton we six-fo'

I'm a shinin' star
And I gotta hit the boulevard in that new jaguar
Why he move through traffic like that, Purple Haze
Ralways, The Ojays, the gangsta lean so

Please believe that I keep two G's in my jeans
Two gats in my sleeve, two rats in my beam'
X-5, mami let's ride
Weave in and out of traffic from Compton to Bed-Stuy

It's the kid from the far west I, oh, shit
He know how to do more than flip pies
Get money like them stick up guys
Them "Ocean 11" licks got the young kid rich for life

And I talkin' 'bout a movie or George Clooney
I'm talkin' 'bout, runnin' in your spots with uzis tucked in the Coogi
Dude me? Naw truly, might lose your lives
They say, "I've, got 2K2 covered like A.I."

I'm a neighborhood superstar, get it, right
Got it? Good, okay
It's the black socks and get low we get dough
In the yay they pimp hoes, in Compton we six-fo'

I'm a neighborhood superstar, get it, right
Got it? Good, okay
It's the black socks and get low we get dough
In the yay they pimp hoes, in Compton we six-fo'

I know ya, love to watch me, 'specially when I'm lookin' rocky
The trey with the Broccoli with my handles on the Kawasaki
Handle my jewels with the cuff in my shoes
A.D. jacket on my elbow, 50 coast the jewels

In my neighborhood, I'm young Bill Gates, never shuffle the cake
So cover my face and run up in the place
I'm a superstar, dick and my chain, glass bezel and bang
80 karats on my pinky and rang

Crews buzz when you speakin' my name, 'cause I'm deep in the game
With top cool thangs and million dollar planes
I'm a maniac, young boy gone, like a young Roy Jones
You ought of my zone and ain't nobody home

In my neighborhood, produce stars, stakes is high
Now we soarin' through the spacious skies
Drop yo' body with them cakes and ride, the handle is up
Switchin' gears with the pedal and ride

I'm a neighborhood superstar, get it, right
Got it? Good, okay
It's the black socks and get low we get dough
In the yay they pimp hoes, in Compton we six-fo'

I'm a neighborhood superstar, get it, right
Got it? Good, okay
It's the black socks and get low we get dough
In the yay they pimp hoes, in Compton we six-fo'

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3a334b066fb528e19b97c45e9b3412b6

Im Looking - Lyrics - Untold Story - Game

Title: Im Looking
Album: Untold Story
Artist: Game
Composer(s): Joseph Tom, Jayceon Taylor

Lyric:
I'm from Compton where them guns bust, watch Poppa George pop
Cats tellin' jokes at them car games seen big face hundreds
Handle the rock like Nate Archibald, what? This nigga only sixteen
And I wanted to be, just like him middle school fightin'

Any nigga with a chip on his shoulder, whattup nigga?
You want beef with me? Now I let the heat speak for me
No more talkin', just outline chalkin'
Nigga witta attitude from birth, 100 Miles and Running

Gunnin' bustin' shots like fuck the cops
Notorious for burnin' blocks, weavin' in and out of traffic and chop
Game the young Robin Hood of the block
Steal from the rich, give to the poor, coward niggaz rock

Second comin' of this black Alfred Hitchcock
Kick in the door wavin' the four-four
Ten shots to your spleen
Let them violins sing

Yo, I'm just a ghetto nigga stuck in this game
Young'uns runnin' with 'caine
Rain hits so we floodin' the game
When you come to Compton respect the grounds, leave you shook man
(And I look good, from Compton to Brooklyn)

Hey yo I don't give a fuck who you are, fuck ya ice
Fuck the block that you claim, fuck your Bentley Azure
(Dead presidents is all I represent)
('Til y'all met me y'all niggaz ain't met gangsta yet)

Fast cars, money and muscle, the hustle I was brought up in the 80's
Gangbangin', dope traffic, shit get crazy
From where niggaz grow up hard like dicks raised
Them hustlin' guns like nicks players, we got mouths to feed

'Til they put flowers on me, moms kiss my cold cheek
In that pine box, I'm buyin' rocks, eyein' cops
Fuck a cell block, the young kid makin' it happen
Who you think got them fiends runnin' back like Bo Jackson?

I'm a gangsta, what else could I say?
I'm ahead of myself like it's Y4K
2Pac, Scarface, N.W.A.
Taught me how to dodge them bullets, keep my wig in play

Keep fo' snug in the waist or pay a thousand to have 'em
Niggaz in the street move faster than, Michael Jackson's album
But the shit don't really matter to me, we get better G
Bet the four slow 'em down like PCP

Yo, I'm just a ghetto nigga stuck in this game
Young'uns runnin' with 'caine
Rain hits so we floodin' the game
When you come to Compton respect the grounds, leave you shook man
(And I look good, from Compton to Brooklyn)

Hey yo I don't give a fuck who you are, fuck ya ice
Fuck the block that you claim, fuck your Bentley Azure
(Dead presidents is all I represent)
('Til y'all met me y'all niggaz ain't met gangsta yet)

Real gangsters never talk shit, handle they business
Fuck the dry snitchin' and bitchin', niggaz die when them bullets fly
Who fuckin' with him, ha? Not a nigga alive
End up dead in that 5

He got no sympathy for them dead guys, friend or foe
Watch that chest cave in, what that vest savin'?
Make it sloppy for the autopsy, leave my enemies in a frenzy
On the front lines holdin' a 9

Everyday a new chapter, my own niggaz plottin' on me
Tryin' to hit me but they won't get me
Feel the semi first fuckin' with my dough, is the worst way to go
Y'all know, niggaz cry when them bullets burn slow dummy

In and out of spots watchin' my money
If one dollar come up missin' bodies start to come up missin'
No one too heavy for the expedition, piss on your corpse
Watch your soul shiver, throw him in the river, bitch nigga

Yo, I'm just a ghetto nigga stuck in this game
Young'uns runnin' with 'caine
Rain hits so we floodin the game
When you come to Compton respect the grounds, leave you shook man
(And I look good, from Compton to Brooklyn)

Hey yo I don't give a fuck who you are, fuck ya ice
Fuck the block that you claim, fuck your Bentley Azure
(Dead presidents is all I represent)
('Til y'all met me y'all niggaz ain't met gangsta yet)

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12c8c387e95235e4c4f84aee97affbbd