| Doughboy: Shit! |
| Rick! |
| Come on, man!
|
| Tre: Ricky!
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| Help me! |
| Help me! |
| Somebody, help me!
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| Ricky, Ricky!
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| Ricky!
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| Blood of a slave, heart of a giant
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| Had to leave Aftermath, Dre said I was too defiant
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| That was five years ago, look how fast it go
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| Destroyin' Interscope, shot myself like Plaxico
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| But fuck that, blaze one, where the matches, yo?
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| Hit the freeway and see how fast the Aston go
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| Roll the window down, clip off the ashes so
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| You can see all my diamonds and how much cash I blow
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| How many bitches I fuck, how many cars I drive
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| How many goons I got, count 'em and they all outside
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| Niggas try to shut me up like Malcom
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| But standin' in the window K smokin' was the outcome
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| Sometimes I get a little stressed and pop a Valium
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| Hit Hollywood late night and knock down a stallion
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| So niggas think twice 'bout my medallion or
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| You’ll hear Cuba Gooding yelling «Ricky!»
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| My nostalgia is a hunnid percent Compton, zero percent snitch
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| Park a Bentley and the Phantom on blocks where I used to pitch
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| Made the Cincinnati fitted more famous than Griffey did
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| And just to think, several years ago they tried to split his wig
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| Two to the chest, struck his heart, one hit his rib
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| Then I blacked out, like a movie, all I could hear
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| Come on, let’s get 'em, let’s get em
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| Get 'em, man, get 'em
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| Cut him off, pull right here, cut him off
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| Go, man, go
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| Feelin' all fucked up, woke up to a doctor
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| All I could think about was if the cops took my weed and my choppers
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| They want me to sing like Sinatra,
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| I told the detective get this clear like Belvedere vodka
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| Them five that shots then created a monster
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| Hell’s Kitchen comin' straight out of Compton
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| I seen Boyz n the Hood, Morris Chestnut was a actor
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| 2Pac was the real life «Ricky!»
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| Then they shot down the nigga that shot him, swear to God
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| If I’m lying then Compton is New York and I’m Rakim
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| I’m from where niggas get murdered over stock rims
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| And punched in the jaw just for a cocked brim
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| Nobody mama let the cops in, we ain’t got no options
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| Wanted to be a boxer, but I was boxed in
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| Then my grandmother house went up for auction
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| And that’s what what killed her, I’m goin' back to buy the block then
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| Too many niggas locked in, dig up Cochran
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| And defend all my niggas ith they face under stockings
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| Rather face God than 25 with no options
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| If Compton ain’t the murder capital, we in the top ten
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| Drive by with our face painted, like a clown
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| With a tre-pound, forty shells bouncin' off the ground
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| This how my livin' room sound, when my brother got shot down
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| (Crying (sample from Boyz n the Hood)) |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Ricky , by - The Game. Song from the album The R.E.D. Album, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп