| Wake up in the morning, oh shit!
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| Had to cock the 9, niggas tryin' to steal my pits
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| Went out the back door, see them niggas hit the fence
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| Im telling you, life in Compton is a bitch
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| Let off a couple shots, God damn, I miss
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| Say fuck it anyway, and let off the whole clip
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| Im not to be fucked with, when Im off liquor
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| Old English in my system, bout to kill me a nigga
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| See, I remember back in the days, loadin my AK
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| Ridin round in my Impala with my lungs full of haze
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| That’s when I didnt give a fuck, now I got my son
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| Shoot a nigga, he die, public enemy number one
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| But, this aint no action flick, no Johnny Depp shit
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| When the Tec spit hollow tips in your Lexus
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| So. |
| Dont fuck with a Compton nigga when he packin the gat
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| Yeah, nigga, I stay strapped
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| Somethin hot in here
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| Nigga, it must be me! |
| Is it the shades? |
| Is it the Js?
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| Is it the Bentley with the full color ways
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| Or the old-school sittin on blades
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| What could be?
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| Its 2-o-clock in the afternoon, Im bout to roll a Swisher
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| Cause that’s what real niggas do when they at home
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| Watchin ESPN on the 70-inch flat screen
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| K-Gs and Wade jerseys, blowin chronic, that green
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| Gave up the hoop dreams, bubble with the crack dreams
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| Turn hood zombies into a Olympic track team
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| Till I got shot, and infiltrated the rap scene
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| Had to clean my life up, doc gave me the vaccine
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| Dont get it twisted, I still click-clack things
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| Red beam attached to each and every strap
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| That I keep locked up in my basement
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| If I shoot a nigga, will the Lord forgive Jason?
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| I dont know, still got a sick fetish for shoot-outs and car chases
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| Fuck Pacino, cause we know niggas with scarfaces
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| And we go back, like D-Boys and small faces
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| And we crashin new Ferraris while ya’ll hatin'
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| Pharrell I think its
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| Somethin hot in here
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| Nigga, it must be me! |
| Is it the shades? |
| Is it the Js?
|
| Is it the Bentley with the full color ways
|
| Or the old-school sittin on blades
|
| What could it be?
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| You know the answer, fool
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| Niggas caint fuck with me, real spit
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| I guess I am a motherfucking legend, Will Smith
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| All Im missin is a bitch like Jada, Bonnie & Clyde shit
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| Hit the fence like later, sayonara, arrivederci
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| Black rose Phantom, interior hearse shit
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| And I got some kisses from a couple Brooklyn bitches
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| Them hoesll never testify, peace to Common
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| But Game keep it hood like weaves and Top Ramen
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| Never stop coming for the top
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| If the bass a flesh wound and Pharrell a head shot
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| Motherfucker, and when he take aim
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| Bullets enter your frame, my bars simi-lar
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| To a dragon swalloin flames
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| Caint walk through the club and take a piss
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| Without these new school rap niggas on my dick
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| While you fuck around with your jewelry and all your whips
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| I pull up with your bitch pumpin gangsta shit
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| Now you know
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| Somethin hot in here
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| Nigga, it must be me! |
| Is it the shades? |
| Is it the Js?
|
| Is it the Bentley with the full color ways
|
| Or the old-school sittin on blades
|
| What could it be?
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| You know the answer, fool
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| Do ya thing, shawty
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| Do ya thing, shawty
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| Do ya thing, shawty
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| Erybody lookin now Go
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| Go
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| Go
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| Go
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| Go
|
| Go
|
| Erybody lookin now |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song It Must Be , by - The Game. Song from the album America's Most Wanted 2, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп