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run up - the game lyrics

[intro: the game]
west coast, it’s all about survival n-gga
west coast, california’s own
black wall street, d.p.g.c
you n-ggas know what it is
compton and long beach back together again

[verse 1: ice cube]
security pat downs
i’m a star, motherf-cker, i been put the gat down
i been put’ the mac down
but check the people that i’m with
’cause they’ll lay you flat down
and they’ll do it right now
yeah, you scared of the phone numbers that a n-gga might dial
club-hop, car shows, picnics
big cars, big jewels, big d-cks
rush doors, or gotta hop the fence
[?], gotta blow my rent
gotta show my -ss, then go repent
gotta call in sick, and tell ’em where i went
(buck em, buck ’em, buck ’em)
don’t want no problems, ya’ll
f-ck around, i’ll pull out the problem solved
and watch egos dissolve
nine times out of ten, you hoes involved

[hook]
you gotta problem n-gga run up
they get [?] go be [?]
[?] give a f-ck, i’ma do my thang
representing the city from which i came

[verse 2: the game]
it’s too much gangsta sh-t goin’ on in the f-ckin’ world
for n-ggas to be actin’ like girls
i’m the g-ngb-ng general, never rhyme a subliminal
12-gauge shotty to your body, a f-ckin’ criminal
a animal, west coast beat cannibal
who got the antidote? i’m sick on this gangsta sh-t
not blood or crip, i’m a anybody k!lla
for realer, half blood half motherf-ckin’ gorilla
suicidal, my flow is a automatic rifle
my rag is a flag, i should hang it from the f-ckin’ eiffel, tower
mc’s i devour, a lyrical time bomb
i explode to the next episode
cutl-ss ridin’, butler drivin’
head low cause it’s all about motherf-ckin’ survivin’
in the city i claim, westside we bang
the game, and the d.p.g.c. gang

[verse 3: yg]
goin’ goin’ back back to the bank
rest in peace to my safe
i’ma fly n-gga n-gga i take your ho
i’ll have to leave her if she did me like coco
the devil talkin’ to me, but i dont hear him
act like i’m deaf like so-so
f-ck you, f-ck him, f-ck them
f-ck my ex and her cohorts
hundred bottles in the club, for no reason
n-ggas start trippin’, boom bow dope fiend
fendi on my shoes, fendi on my belt
i’m in the fendi store, i dont need help
all gold everything like trinidad
i went to high school, with you b-tch you been a rat
i don’t got money problems, i got trust issues
two things i gotta stayin’ with, two pistols

- the game lyrics

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