The Game - It must be lyrics

Wake up in the mornin', oh, sh** Had to co*k the 9, n***as tryin' to steal my b**h Run out the back door, see them n***as hit the fence I'm tellin' you, life ain't Compton, it's a b**h Let off a couple shots, goddamn, I missed Sayin' f** it anyway, let off the whole clip I'm not to be f**ed with when I'm off liquor Old English in my system 'bout to k** me a n***a See, I remember back in the days, loadin' my A.K Ridin' 'round in my Impala with my lungs full of haze That's when I didn't give a f**, now I got my sons Shoot a n***a, he die, public enemy number one But this ain't no action flick, no Johny Depp sh** When the TEC spit hollow tips in your Lexus So, don't f** with a Compton n***a When he packin' a gat, yeah n***a, I stay strapped Somethin' hot in here, n***a, it must be me Somethin' hot in here, n***a, it must be me Is it the shades? Is it the J's? Is it the Bentley with the four colorways? Or the old school sittin' on glaze? What could it be? It's 2 o'clock in the afternoon, I'm 'bout to roll a swisher 'Cause that's what real n***as do when they at home Watchin' E.S.P.N. on a 70 inch flatscreen K.G.'s away Jersey blowin' chronic that green Gave up the hoop dreams, bubble with the crack dreams Turn hood zombies into an Olympic track team Till I got got shot and infiltrated the rap scene Had to clear my life up, Doc. gave me the vaccine Don't get it twisted, I still click clack things Red beam attached to each and every strap That I keep locked up in my basement If I shoot a n***a will I be known For gettin' Jason, I don't know Still got a sick phase for shoot outs and car chases f** Paccino 'cause we know n***as with scarred faces And we go back like D-boys with small faces And we crashin' them Ferraris like y'all hate me Pharrell I think it's Somethin' hot in here, n***a, it must be me Somethin' hot in here, n***a, it must be me Is it the shades? Is it the J's? Is it the Bentley with the four colorways? Or the old school sittin' on glaze, what could it be? (You know they a** is full) n***as can't f** with me, will stit I guess I am a motha f**in' legend, Will Smith All I'm missin' is a b**h like Jaya, Bonnie and Clyde sh** Hit the fence like later, Syonara or we the dirt sh** Black rose phantom interior hurt sh** And I got some kisses from a couple Brooklyn b**hes Them hoes, they never testify, Beefs to Common But Game keep it hood like Weez and top Rommy Never stop comin' for the top If it bakes a flesh wound if Feralla headshot Motha f**a and when he take aim, bullets into your frame My boss and allowed to when trigga swallow your vein Can't walk through the club and take a piss Without these new school rap n***as on my dick Why you f** around with you j**elry and all your wrist? I pull up with your b**h pumpin' gangsta sh**, now you know Somethin' hot in here, n***a, it must be me Somethin' hot in here, n***a, it must be me Is it the shades? Is it the J's? Is it the Bentley with the four colorways? Or the old school sittin' on glaze, what could it be? Do you thing shawty, do your thing shawty Do you thing shawty, err'body lookin' now Do you thing shawty, do your thing shawty Do you thing shawty, err'body lookin' now Go, go, go, go, go, go, err'body lookin' now Go, go, go, go, go, go, err'body lookin' now