Lookin At You [Explicit]

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

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 niggas sellin' your soul tryin' to stay on top

Bitch nigga, check your Kotex

You niggas 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

Niggas got the game fucked up like Hennessey 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 overbearin'

Belligerent, foul, defiant and very disrespectful?

You call that nigga the Doctor's Advocate

He's a reflection of Dr. Dre in his hay day 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 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 half time reports

When the game is over, The Game is over

You can't put a quarter in the machine

And get three mo' min', that's the end

I'll 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

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 niggas get ready for your early retirement

Before I let hip hop burn down

I run in the building like a fireman

Who can out spit 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 separated like Interscope and hahahaha

Oh shit, this some good ass motherfuckin' weed

That California sticky green

This is the aftermath for the Aftermath

West Coast