| Compton, Compton, Compton
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| Ahh, real muthaphuckkin G’s
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| Ahh, real muthaphuckkin G’s
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| Ahh, real muthaphuckkin G’s
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| Ahh, real muthaphuckkin G’s
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| Hey yo, Doctor, here’s another proper track
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| And it’s phat, watch the sniper, time to pay the piper
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| And let that real shit provoke
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| See, you’s a wannabe 'loc, and you’ll get smoked, and I hope
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| That your fans understand when you talk about sprayin' me
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| The same records that you makin' is payin' me
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| Motherfuck Dre! | 
| Motherfuck Snoop! | 
| Motherfuck Death Row!
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| Yo, and here comes my left blow
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| 'Cause I’m the E-A-Z-Y-E and this is the season
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| To let the real motherfuckin' G’s in
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| You’re like a kid, you found a pup, and now you’re dapper
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| But tell me, where the fuck you found an anorexic rapper?
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| Talkin' 'bout who you gon' squabble with and who you shoot
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| You’re only sixty pounds when you’re wet and wearin' boots
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| (Damn, E, they tried to fade you on Dre Day)
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| But Dre Day only meant Eazy’s payday
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| All of a sudden Dr. Dre is the G Thang
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| But on his own album cover he was a she-thang
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| So, nigga please, nigga please
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| Don’t step to these muthaphuckkin' real G’s
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| Stop him in his tracks, show him that I am Ruthless
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| Yo, Dre! | 
| (What's up?)
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| Boy, you should’ve known by now
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| Every day it’s a new rapper claimin' to be dapper than the Dresta
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| Softer than a bitch but portray the role of gangsta
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| Ain’t broke a law in your life
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| Yet every time you rap you yap about the guns and knife
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| Just take a good look at the nigga and you’ll capture
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| The fact that the master is simply just an actor
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| Who mastered the bang and the slang and the mental
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| Of niggas in Compton, Watts, and South Central
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| Never ever once have you ran with the turf
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| But yet in every verse claim you used to do the dirt
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| But tell me, who’s a witness to your fuckin' work?
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| So you never had no bid’ness, so save the drama, jerk!
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| Niggas straight kill me, knowin' that they pranksters
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| This is goin' out to you studio gangstas
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| See, I did dirt, put in work, and many niggas can vouch that
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| So since I got stripes, I got the right to rap about that
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| But niggas like you, I gotta hate ya
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| 'Cause I’m just tired of suburbia niggas
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| Talkin' about they come from projects
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| Knowin' you ain’t seen the parts of the streets, G
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| Think you started tryna bang around the time of the peace treaty
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| Wearin' khakis and mob while you rhyme
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| Little fag tried to sag, but you’re floodin' at the same time
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| And your set don’t accept ya; | 
| scared to kick it with your homies
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| 'Cause you know they don’t respect ya
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| So, nigga please, check nuts
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| Before you step to these muthaphuckkin' real G’s
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| Well, it’s the Knocc Out, definition «Original baby gangsta»
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| Approach me like you hard, motherfucker, I’ma bank ya
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| Shank ya, with my fuckin' shank, if I have to
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| Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dogg are fuckin' actors
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| Pranksters, studio gangstas, busters
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| But this time you’re dealin' with some real motherfuckers
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| G’s, nigga please, don’t try to step
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| 'Cause if you do, then a peeled cap is all that would be left
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| See, young niggas like me will break you off somethin'
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| Claimin' my city — but Dre, you ain’t from Compton
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| Niggas like y’all is what I call wannabes
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| And ain’t shit compared to real muthaphuckkin' G’s
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| Stop him in his tracks, show him that I am Ruthless
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| Yo, Dre! | 
| (What's up?)
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| I never met a O.G. | 
| who never did shit wrong
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| You tried to diss the Eazy-E, so now, nigga, it’s on
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| You and your Doggy Dogg think that y’all hoggin' shit
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| Both of you bitches can come and suck my Doggy dick
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| Beatin' up a bitch don’t make you shit, but then again
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| Some niggas think it makes a man
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| Damn, it’s a trip how a nigga could switch so quick
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| From wearin' lipstick to smokin' on chronic at picnics
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| And now you think you’re bigger
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| But to me you ain’t nothin' but a bitch-ass nigga
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| That ain’t worth a food stamp
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| And at Death Row, I hear you gettin' treated like boot camp
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| Gotta follow your sergeant’s directions
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| Or get your ass pumped with the Smith & Wesson
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| Learn a lesson from the Eaze
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| Stay in your place and don’t step to real muthaphuckkin' G’s
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| Stop him in his tracks, show him that I am Ruthless
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| Yo, Dre! | 
| (What's up?)
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| Boy, you should’ve known by now
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| Stop him in his tracks, show him that I am Ruthless
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| Yo, Dre! | 
| (What's up?)
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| Boy, you should’ve known by now
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| Stop him in his tracks, show him that I am Ruthless
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| Yo, Dre! | 
| (What's up?)
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| Boy, you should’ve known by now: Eazy Duz It |