The Game - Baggage Claim lyrics

I be down in lil Haiti, bagin a lil weezy and a lil baby In a drop top Mercedes, I'm not what your used to I'm a lil koo-koo, I'll put this 9 on your head like a f**ing bluetooth And let the smoke from the Benz exhaust blend with The smoke from the cough cuz that marijuana I'm smoking Mary J what's the 411, call guidos people I need 4 more guns And shoutout to LL for no f**ing reason Cuz he the reason Def Jam was ever breathing Number one, you n***as can't f** with son Number two, new DJs don't have a clue Number three, to ever to be a real MC You have to go back to '88 and battle Kool G Then battle Cool Jay with Cool Herp judging I'm the opposite of the levy in New Orleans, I'm not budging n***as talking bout they cars, n***a I got a dozen You couldn't see Game if you were Chris Paul cousin While we talking 'bout cousin, if you was cousin Then I'll be blooding, so you still ain't saying nothing I'm coming outta customs, on the phone with Busta Lil duffle bag boys, I'm swimming in trust funds So trust that its fun, let ms. white scholar (?) And this white collar touch my ones Jay got married, whatup b I wish I could of threw the rice, just like salt to me And I'm right where I ought to be Across from Jack Nickolson n***a playoff seats Whatup Bynum, how's that playoff ...(?) Next time-out tell Kobe run the play-off me Cuz I dribbled in hallways all day, did drive-bys in broad day And I lost a homie in a car chase Think I'm bullsh**ting, call Face, call Mase I'm a ghetto boy n***a i grew up on Scarface Call Nas, how that Cuban cigar taste Ask about the homie Suge, I'll blow the smoke in your face Now wouldn't it be gangsta if i knocked out the n***a that hit him At the club throw up a motherf**ing dub Im an animal around these parts, I'm a cannibal around your heart Hannibal chewing through cantaloupe Couldn't find a doctor I had to make my own antidote Never detox and I blow it like Barry Manelope Cali Cronic Purple Haze, twisting up a back wood Thinking bout when I was running through 50s back woods In Connecticut my etiquette was gangsta Damn, I was right there when he dropped "wa*ksta" The good old days, smoking the good old jays Rocking good old Jays, the n***a proof or the number fours I like the number nines, them sh**s were hot in the summertime Keep playing I'll put your a** up under mine The old Jimmy Henchmen, that's my ratchet game Welcome to Compton, corners call it baggage claim