The Game - 100 Bars and Runnin lyrics

[Intro Skit] [Verse 1: Game] Who be, standing on Compton Blvd. in them Gucci's Drinking a 40, it's me, the n***a with the uzi Standing by the new 6 with creamy white rocks White Tee, Dickies and a black fitted White Sox This ain't Chi-Town but we got a windy city Cause every b**h and fiend in Compton blow Dr Dre signed the kid, watch Compton blow We got a Cali g**ner with a Yonkers flow Now the streets is talking, wanna know where Dre found him In that Impala, the same Impala I keep my pound in Ain't no telling what the Game will do, muthaf**a I'll blow the guts out the dutch and do the same to you And just to get sh** cracking, I'll drop the toaster Grab the Louie go Sammy Sosa And you ain't gotta know me to know that I hop out a new pink Rolls, with the '52 Pete Rose throwback Haze in my eyes, listening to Bobby Womack On the same corner where Eazy E sold coke at I'm the n***a that'll smoke the purple Get high as a kite, down half the Grey Goose And choke one of your workers Don't make me put two in your shirt Dog, I'm putting in work Then move bags like Dooney and Bourke Then stuff work in the GMC Cause on my block, I'm the king of rock like Run DMC And I'll come through in the tan prowler With guns in the stash That'll turn your man face into clam chowder Hold that damn powder, my n***as will squeeze And bust all night like it's New Year's Eve So lace your Timbs and polish your Gators We like odds in Vegas You can't ball then it's probably the haters You can't breathe, then it's probably the desert If you a gangsta or not I give a f** dog, bullets is hot And you can find me in the hood with rocks in the Pyrex Tan khakis and them Nike Airs with the dyed checks So you know my CK's in your mommy's hamper Cause I got a six tre that changes colors like Jolly Ranchers And Busta Rhymes told me how to make money If it ain't rap, it's the mac Run up on you and take money Now I signed with the 'math, I got out-of-state money White boy from Yale, Cancun spring break money Canary yellow diamonds in my chain, take honey To the Four Seasons, before 4 I'm skeetin' Before 5 she leaving I know her man and I know what a four-five will leave him On Rosecrans bleeding The old man seen em', and he won't tell He on a seafood diet and he don't eat shells Ghost town back on the map, we gon' eat well Nieces and nephews, Barbie cars with Sprewells Ask around, they'll tell you I'm good with the raw cane And skipped college then handle the rock like LeBron James And I ain't mean to take shots at The Roc, or call names Tell Jay when he visits LA to call Game Let him know I squashed that beef, I'm bigger than that In 5 years, I'm trying to be where Jigga is at The CPT, that's where me and my n***as is at Standing by that new Ferrari, liquorish black And I got a story to tell, my yay talks to me But, nobody believes that my yay talks to me Late night in the coupe, Marvin Gaye talks to me When I'm gangsta leaning, twisting purple haze off Remy And the rims ain't cost me a penny Came in the dice game Z with the white frame and go with the Pumas Think about it, you can die sooner Got my 40 from Cincinnati and it throws bullets like boomer f** a rumor, I copped a Lamborghini Ride with the AC on Red rag over my face and an Angels beanie When you see me in the streets, it's real It ain't no bangin on wax n***a, Compton is back These rap n***as is hoes, need to holler at Don Juan f*ggot n***as with g strings under their Sean Jean I'll let em' have it on a Compton strip, clip for clip Or walk block for block through Harlem with Von Zip Black Chuck Taylors, canaries shining on my wrist With a desert and a line and grindin' like The Clipse And they don't know if I'm a Blood or a Crip When they see me rock the cherry khaki suit Inside a smerf blue 6 And the fifth get em' downtown faster than 5 tokens And put n***as in the ICU like bifocals And I k** bi-coastal I'll smash your Jersey J. Kidd or the yellow and purple The harder the n***a, the harder the work is So I get high and listen to Pac's first sh** before I write verses I'm the Shaq on the block, Kobe with the rock West with the shot, so nickname my johnson "Earvin" Don't get murdered I got a Glock in the holster That'll blow your f**ing brains off the top of your shoulders Dog, I keep it gangsta like I'm supposed to With a 12 guage shotty and that Testarossa NWA soldier, I'm no good, I'm so hood Holla if you wanna die that bad, I bust guns that fast And I rock my rag, like it's 88 and n***as still rockin' Shaft So put the hundreds in the bag Or I'ma put the eagle to your helmet And the 5th to your chest like Donovan McNabb I keep 16 in the clip, and I'll let em' all go Like The Lakers did Elton, Eddie and Nick We got bricks for 11.5, So many fiends It's like a n***a been on the same corner since '75 NWA will never die And I'm Compton's most wanted 100 bars and runnin! [Outro] Look what the f** the wind blew in Yo Clue, you better let em' know, n***a This is Aftermath's young gun Oh, you thought it was hard to get a deal on the west before? Welcome to them f**ing record labels now If you ain't spitting like The Game And 10 bars or less, your sh** is a frisbee, n***a So you better be concerned This is Chuck Taylor, muthaf**a And I'll bring the west coast back by myself if I got to You don't believe me? Ask the n***a standing next to you See what the f** he got to say Holla