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