Tekster: The Game. State Of Emergency (feat Ice Cube).

California ain't a state, it's an army

[Verse 1: The Game]

One motherfucker in the projects killing
The same motherfucker that'll burn down the village
With a chronic blunt full of that - you know, who don't
Take you back to Compton in that 6-4 two door
Subwoofers in the trunk, kicking that lethal injection
A hood nigga lost with no direction
So he bought a black Smith and Wesson
Strapped on his vest and that's his protection
At the intersection waiting on the rival
Coz in the city of angels it's all about survival
Fuck the 5-0, they wanna see you D.O.A.
Welcome to L.A.
Where the ghetto birds flying over my auntie's and my cousin's house
Tell me what they buzzin bout
The lil homie got smoked on the corner
And now his momma crying, dead in California

[Chorus: The Game & Ice Cube]

Motherfuckers ain't gon learn
Til the chronic blunt don't burn
And you cant see nothing but the
ghetto bird light shining through the fucking palm trees
California ain't a state, it's an army

Motherfuckers ain't gon learn
Til the chronic blunt don't burn
And you cant see nothing but the
ghetto bird light shining through the fucking palm trees
California ain't a state, it's an army

[Verse 2: The Game]

Jumped in my Impala took a trip to the ?
To scoop up Ego Trippin' and a white tee
Coz some niggas in my old hood don't like me
Time to put they ass in check, like my Nikes
Til they hear my nigga Mack 10 on the chirp
All I need is me and my bitch
You scared? Go to church
Coz in California niggas crack heads for the turf
Their life ain't nothing but Tec 9's and dirt
Dipping through the jungles, my Escalade hit a dip
Fuck!
Here come the Guerrillas in the Mist
And they dress like Ice Cube was in '96
Stone cold jheri curl and not one drip
I'll sleep with the worms before I swim with the fish
And I'll ride with my niggas before I roll with a bitch
If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense
And I almost got shot coz I couldn't hit a fence

[Chorus: The Game & Ice Cube]

Motherfuckers ain't gon learn
Til the chronic blunt don't burn
And you cant see nothing but the
ghetto bird light shining through the fucking palm trees
California ain't a state, it's an army

Motherfuckers ain't gon learn
Til the chronic blunt don't burn
And you cant see nothing but the
ghetto bird light shining through the fucking palm trees
California ain't a state, it's an army

[Verse 3: The Game]

Call the U.S. government and tell em this a motherfucking code red
Niggas try to straight-up jack me
Now they both dead
Third little nigga got away on his moped
Caught him 'round the corner, put the beam on his forehead
Jumped in the Impala then smashed through the light
Without a one-time in sight, so I bust right
on Century headed to the L.A.X.
Where their ain't nothing but fly bitches and jets
In and out of lanes and I almost wrecked
Off bread nigga in the 600 throwing up the set
He must don't know, I got the 40 on deck
and the Tec
Tryna ?? time to flex
It's the third time this shit happened to me all day
Guess it's time to add another dead body to the throwaway
So I turn down the Spice 1 tape and hit the switch
Emptied a whole clip in his fucking face

[Chorus: The Game & Ice Cube]

Motherfuckers ain't gon learn
Til the chronic blunt don't burn
And you cant see nothing but the
ghetto bird light shining through the fucking palm trees
California ain't a state, it's an army

Motherfuckers ain't gon learn
Til the chronic blunt don't burn
And you cant see nothing but the
ghetto bird light shining through the fucking palm trees
California ain't a state, it's an army

California ain't a state, it's an army