"Still Me" lyrics
(feat. Ikay & Mya)
[Ikay:]
Yow! A weh di fuck do dem?
Black Wall Street, Cry Nation
Yeah!
From Kingston to Compton... Ha-ha
Yow Game! Weh yuh deh pon?
Warminister!
Ha-ha... Dem fi know
Yeah!
Game! Fuck wid dem
[The Game:]
Straight outta the motherfucking pissy hallway in the projects
To park in a four door Bentley on my set
Same hood, same motherfucking steps I sat on and took the plastic off of "Life After Death"
Banging, boning Biggie Biggie I did a 360
The Aftermath for that is the nigga 50 ain't with me
No hard feelings, we both made millions
You can hate me or love me but nigga I spit real shit
like I'm comatose, tell the Doc I'm sick
Before "Detox", let me take my last chronic hit
Now I am gangsta rap
Inhale the weed smoke and coughed up five "Platinum" plaques
So I'm a let the nigga Dr. Dre hit
Next time I have dreams of fucking an R&B bitch
I don't make love, I make hits
I put a condom on and stuff my dick in this hip-hop shit
[Mya:]
Feels good...
Gangsta...
Still hood...
Gangsta
[The Game:]
I'm that six figure nigga
Who got the word from KRS-ONE and stole the Blueprint from Jigga
Niggas yelling, "Game did this, Game did that!"
Game ain't do shit but bring the motherfucking West Coast back
I hear the whispering going on in the hood
I sent a motherfucking Hallmark card to Suge
That nigga know that we all good
So you can catch a cab to Hell with them death threats I'm already dead
I put the .38 revolver to my own fucking head
Before I let the shit eat my conscience
Ain't a nigga in the world could tell me I can't come through Compton
Before I retire my Converse, I'll ride the train through NYC with the terrorist bombers
Somebody tell my mama I'm crazy
Poppa was a Rolling Stone so that makes me a crack baby
I'm in rehab three times a week
Because I'm a motherfucking fiend for a Dr. Dre beat
[Mya:]
Feels good...
Gangsta...
Still hood...
Gangsta
[Ikay:]
Uh. Yea! Uh
It's da motherfucking I dot
Jamaica on my back
Ten pounds of weed on my block
Cops coming, hide that
I'm so fucking blessed
Straight off da River, so fucking fresh
Hey!
Mi got mi chopper pon mi
Pussy hole! Suck yuh mother, tek yuh eyes off mi rapper money
Got respect fi di shottas only
Stick to the streets like cheese to macaroni
A weh di fuck do dem
Five shots, a duppy dem
Glock innah mi hand, mi a go fi dem
Big dog never scared ah di puppy dem
I got no love fi dem
Got slugs fi dem
I be on some street shit
Weed in my eyes so I can't see shit
Be on some G shit
Let dem niggas talk, run up on you with da Hawk and squeeze clips
They wanna know where da nigga from
Kingston Jamaica got dem niggas bombed
I'm never wrong
I am the the street motherfuckers, here I am
[Mya:]
Feels good...
Gangsta...
Still hood...
Gangsta
Yow! A weh di fuck do dem?
Black Wall Street, Cry Nation
Yeah!
From Kingston to Compton... Ha-ha
Yow Game! Weh yuh deh pon?
Warminister!
Ha-ha... Dem fi know
Yeah!
Game! Fuck wid dem
[The Game:]
Straight outta the motherfucking pissy hallway in the projects
To park in a four door Bentley on my set
Same hood, same motherfucking steps I sat on and took the plastic off of "Life After Death"
Banging, boning Biggie Biggie I did a 360
The Aftermath for that is the nigga 50 ain't with me
No hard feelings, we both made millions
You can hate me or love me but nigga I spit real shit
like I'm comatose, tell the Doc I'm sick
Before "Detox", let me take my last chronic hit
Now I am gangsta rap
Inhale the weed smoke and coughed up five "Platinum" plaques
So I'm a let the nigga Dr. Dre hit
Next time I have dreams of fucking an R&B bitch
I don't make love, I make hits
I put a condom on and stuff my dick in this hip-hop shit
[Mya:]
Feels good...
Gangsta...
Still hood...
Gangsta
[The Game:]
I'm that six figure nigga
Who got the word from KRS-ONE and stole the Blueprint from Jigga
Niggas yelling, "Game did this, Game did that!"
Game ain't do shit but bring the motherfucking West Coast back
I hear the whispering going on in the hood
I sent a motherfucking Hallmark card to Suge
That nigga know that we all good
So you can catch a cab to Hell with them death threats I'm already dead
I put the .38 revolver to my own fucking head
Before I let the shit eat my conscience
Ain't a nigga in the world could tell me I can't come through Compton
Before I retire my Converse, I'll ride the train through NYC with the terrorist bombers
Somebody tell my mama I'm crazy
Poppa was a Rolling Stone so that makes me a crack baby
I'm in rehab three times a week
Because I'm a motherfucking fiend for a Dr. Dre beat
[Mya:]
Feels good...
Gangsta...
Still hood...
Gangsta
[Ikay:]
Uh. Yea! Uh
It's da motherfucking I dot
Jamaica on my back
Ten pounds of weed on my block
Cops coming, hide that
I'm so fucking blessed
Straight off da River, so fucking fresh
Hey!
Mi got mi chopper pon mi
Pussy hole! Suck yuh mother, tek yuh eyes off mi rapper money
Got respect fi di shottas only
Stick to the streets like cheese to macaroni
A weh di fuck do dem
Five shots, a duppy dem
Glock innah mi hand, mi a go fi dem
Big dog never scared ah di puppy dem
I got no love fi dem
Got slugs fi dem
I be on some street shit
Weed in my eyes so I can't see shit
Be on some G shit
Let dem niggas talk, run up on you with da Hawk and squeeze clips
They wanna know where da nigga from
Kingston Jamaica got dem niggas bombed
I'm never wrong
I am the the street motherfuckers, here I am
[Mya:]
Feels good...
Gangsta...
Still hood...
Gangsta
Thanks to Ricardo Mitchell for adding these lyrics.
Writer(s): Chris Absolam, Jamie Hawkins, Richard Smith
