"Lookin' At You" lyrics
(feat. Mac Minister)
[Traci Nelson:]
Walking down the street, in my All Stars
In my khaki suit, doing what I do
Walking down the street, smoking chronic
In my black locs looking, at you
[The Game:]
Guess who's back on the West coast tracks
It's the motherfucking Messiah of gangster rap
Still dip in the six-four, still puffing on the same chronic
Haters mad 'cause I still got it
I'll never fall off, even without the Doc
You niggas selling your soul trying to stay on top
Bitch nigga check your Kotex
You niggas ain't moving shit like the hand on a fake-ass Rolex
I'm five million sold
The cover of my last album the only time you see me sitting on gold
I'm the most anticipated, most celebrated
Most loved and the motherfucking most hated
Keep rolling like gold Daytonas
Niggas got the game fucked up like Hennessy with a Coke chaser
You gotta deal with me, I'm the West Coast savior
Niggas think of me every time they six-four scraping
[Mac Minister:]
What do you call a nigga who's overbearing
Belligerent, foul, defiant and very disrespectful?
You call that nigga the Doctor's Advocate
He's a reflection of Dr. Dre in his heyday in the worst way
The five star surgeon general
Took Jayceon to the Aftermath research department
And gave him a blood test
It came back G-A-M-E positive
The nigga's infected with the Game virus
His oratorical skills are so impeccable
That niggas in the streets call him Cyrus
The young damu's down with violence
'Cause in his heart he's a tyrant
It's not a game, it's just called The Game
There'll be no referees, no halftime reports
When the game is over, The Game is over
You can't put a quarter in the machine and get three mo' men
That's the end
[Traci Nelson:]
I'll be walking down the street, in my All Stars
In my khaki suit, doing what I do
Walking down the street, smoking chronic
In my black locs, looking at you
[The Game:]
I done been to hell and back
Left for dead, you know who to thank for that
Finished my second LP without a Dr. Dre track
You can take my soul but can't take my plaques
I'm the motherfucking snare when it touch the beat
I'm the 808 drum that got you moving your feet
I'm the heir to the throne after the D-R-E
Product of my environment, you old-ass niggas
Get ready for your early retirement
Before I let hip-hop burn down I run in the building like a fireman
Who can out-spit me when I'm high off sticky
Throwing back Patron shots in some creased up dickies
I'm D.O.C. certified, Ice Cube lynch'd me
Snoop stamped me and the good Doc handpicked me
You still with me?
Me and my mic can't be separated like Interscope and-ha-ha-ha
Oh shit
This some good ass motherfucking weed
California sticky green!
This is the aftermath for the Aftermath
West Coast!
Walking down the street, in my All Stars
In my khaki suit, doing what I do
Walking down the street, smoking chronic
In my black locs looking, at you
[The Game:]
Guess who's back on the West coast tracks
It's the motherfucking Messiah of gangster rap
Still dip in the six-four, still puffing on the same chronic
Haters mad 'cause I still got it
I'll never fall off, even without the Doc
You niggas selling your soul trying to stay on top
Bitch nigga check your Kotex
You niggas ain't moving shit like the hand on a fake-ass Rolex
I'm five million sold
The cover of my last album the only time you see me sitting on gold
I'm the most anticipated, most celebrated
Most loved and the motherfucking most hated
Keep rolling like gold Daytonas
Niggas got the game fucked up like Hennessy with a Coke chaser
You gotta deal with me, I'm the West Coast savior
Niggas think of me every time they six-four scraping
[Mac Minister:]
What do you call a nigga who's overbearing
Belligerent, foul, defiant and very disrespectful?
You call that nigga the Doctor's Advocate
He's a reflection of Dr. Dre in his heyday in the worst way
The five star surgeon general
Took Jayceon to the Aftermath research department
And gave him a blood test
It came back G-A-M-E positive
The nigga's infected with the Game virus
His oratorical skills are so impeccable
That niggas in the streets call him Cyrus
The young damu's down with violence
'Cause in his heart he's a tyrant
It's not a game, it's just called The Game
There'll be no referees, no halftime reports
When the game is over, The Game is over
You can't put a quarter in the machine and get three mo' men
That's the end
[Traci Nelson:]
I'll be walking down the street, in my All Stars
In my khaki suit, doing what I do
Walking down the street, smoking chronic
In my black locs, looking at you
[The Game:]
I done been to hell and back
Left for dead, you know who to thank for that
Finished my second LP without a Dr. Dre track
You can take my soul but can't take my plaques
I'm the motherfucking snare when it touch the beat
I'm the 808 drum that got you moving your feet
I'm the heir to the throne after the D-R-E
Product of my environment, you old-ass niggas
Get ready for your early retirement
Before I let hip-hop burn down I run in the building like a fireman
Who can out-spit me when I'm high off sticky
Throwing back Patron shots in some creased up dickies
I'm D.O.C. certified, Ice Cube lynch'd me
Snoop stamped me and the good Doc handpicked me
You still with me?
Me and my mic can't be separated like Interscope and-ha-ha-ha
Oh shit
This some good ass motherfucking weed
California sticky green!
This is the aftermath for the Aftermath
West Coast!
Writer(s): Jayceon Taylor, Ervin Pope
