The Game Remedy [Explicit] lyrics

As my Daytons spin, lowrider sittin' low
Hittin' corners so hard, you can taste my rims
Rag top six-fo', Henny in the passenger side
Smokin' chronic, just 'Let Me Ride'

You would do it if my name was Dre
Second comin', motherfucker, throw it up for the king of L.A.
I'm known for makin' bitches take they clothes off
Long as I'm from Compton, California, I could never go soft

I'm hard as a motherfuckin' ounce of raw
Dribble rock like Kobe Bryant bounce the ball
Fuck the law, feedin' my son is a must
Whip it soft, whip it hard, in crack we trust

Why Andrew Jackson look high as fuck on the 20?
G answer, cocaine been around for centuries
Since I'm young, black and rich, I'm the Public Enemy
Ridin' the bass drum, Just Blaze got the remedy

(Now they got me in a cell)
I got the remedy
(Now they got me in a cell)
Aftermath got the remedy

(Now they got me in a cell)
Nigga, back up, back up, back up, back up
(Now they got me in a cell)
'Fore you get your punk-ass smoked

I ain't no joke G, so don't provoke me
I'm from the City of Angels where that Jacob watch is a trophy
And starin' at that Hollywood sign'll get you straight jacked
Where you from fool? Better say you pro-black

'Cause walkin' in Roscoe's wit'cha chain hangin'
Is like Giuliani tryin' to get rid of the gangbangers
Now that 'Pac passed, tryin' to put us on Death Row
Get ready for the Aftermath

I run through the city like Godzilla

Doin' mo' damage than Ice-T when he dropped 'Cop Killer'
Pull a shotty out the trunk of the Chevy
There go another victim of a 187

Who's the grim reaper wit'cha life in his hand?
Even the toughest niggaz run when my gun go blam
So kick back and watch the bitches dance
N.W.A. is back, now let me see your motherfuckin' hands

(Now they got me in a cell)
Nigga, back up, back up, back up, back up
(Now they got me in a cell)
'Fore you get your punk-ass smoked

(Now they got me in a cell)
(Now they got me in a cell)
Nigga, back up, back up, back up, back up
'Fore you get your punk-ass smoked

I'm back by popular demand and so
All black interior on the cherry red six-fo'
Niggaz endin' they careers tryin' to shut me up
Actin' like I traded in my khakis for a button up

The West Coast still dippin'
Game still Bloodin' and Snoop still Crippin'
So what you sayin', loc? Red and blue bandanna
Tied in a knot, as I creep through the chronic smoke

They say it ain't good weed if you don't choke
Shit got my head spinnin' like the hundred spokes
Three wheelin' through the neighborhood
System on blast, as the motherfuckin' one-time pass

The key to drive-bys is aim steady
Turn that Bape hoody into motherfuckin' confetti
When you cross that enemy line
Close your eyes, 'Parental Discretion Iz Advised'