The Game - Cut Throat lyrics

[The Game] (Yung Joc) Hey Joc (What up n***a?) That n***a Quik produced this sh**? (Hell yeah) sh** crazy homie (Ha!) [Hook] My n***as cutthroat, my n***as cutthroat I got some k**as on the East and the West Coast Dead prez on your head, get up ho Uh get up ho, uh get up ho My n***as cutthroat, my n***as cutthroat I got some k**as on the East and the West Coast They whip game real good, they got the best dope Uh get up ho, uh get up ho [The Game] I'm comin' straight for your neck dogg Razor blade, Heckler & Koch In California n***as back on the block I'm from Compton motherf**er, the City of G's We ain't got pretty b**hes but we got plenty of these All my n***as cutthroat, g**n and cut dope Original Bad Boys, n***a even Puff' know We ain't mad about Pac, we know who did it We just mad that him and Big' got crossed in '9-sizix I was 16 then, little n***a inspired Now me and Joc ridin' homie, put that on the wire If hip-hop was a buildin', I'd set it on fire And leave everybody to burn except Mya Ha ha, now f** you b**h I'll rescue all my n***as first then let 'em f** you b**h On the East Coast, them n***as say I'm dumb hot And when I'm in the South you can just ask Yung Joc [Hook] [Yung Joc] I know some head changers, total rich to cost Yeah they head bangin' for less than a brick of soft Well acquainted with fiends and even dope addicts My n***as work the triplebeams and they dope at it Hey, n***a you don't want no static Holes through your chest, hard to breathe like asthmatics Just like Big, tell them n***as, kidnap your kids f** em in the a** and throw em over the bridge When I'm on the East, I'm ballin' with that Jimmy cat Bad b**hes everywhere, they all on my jimmy sack We blowin' sour deez, hundred-fifty packs I f** with real G's, like The Diplomats When I'm in Cali, n***a we blowin' cess Call my n***a Cavi, to smoke away my stress The only coast you'll see locs in Dickie suits on moguls Chirp my n***a J. Taylor on the Boost Mobile [Hook] [Jim Jones] Now shouts to Yung Joc, I number one the block You can meet me in the hood, the engine runnin' on my drop And we was just runnin' from the cops Cookin' coke over the stove, I do wonders with the pots I started as a pumper on the block Either you slang crack rock or you had that wicked jumpshot Either or, there was no in between It was either be poor or move coke to the fiends Twenty it would cost, I was hopin' nineteen Tacchini Valours, I indulged as a teen Amongst the murderers, and plus the burglarers The fly wheely n***as when they start swervin 'em In them fly rides, n***as like to high side Til' they caught slippin' and you catch 'em from the blind side Tap the gla** and you give it to 'em nine times He owed some cash but he didn't meet the timeline [Hook]