Tekster: Game. It Must Be Me.

Wake up in the mornin', oh, shit
Had to cock the 9, niggas tryin' to steal my bitch
Run out the back door, see them niggas hit the fence
I'm tellin' you, life ain't Compton, it's a bitch

Let off a couple shots, goddamn, I missed
Sayin' fuck it anyway, let off the whole clip
I'm not to be fucked with when I'm off liquor
Old English in my system 'bout to kill me a nigga

See, I remember back in the days, loadin' my A.K.
Ridin' 'round in my Impala with my lungs full of haze
That's when I didn't give a fuck, now I got my sons
Shoot a nigga, he die, public enemy number one

But this ain't no action flick, no Johny Depp shit
When the TEC spit hollow tips in your Lexus
So, don't fuck with a Compton nigga
When he packin' a gat, yeah nigga, I stay strapped

Somethin' hot in here, nigga, it must be me
Somethin' hot in here, nigga, it must be me
Is it the shades? Is it the J's?
Is it the Bentley with the four colorways?
Or the old school sittin' on glaze?
What could it be?

It's 2 o'clock in the afternoon, I'm 'bout to roll a swisher
'Cause that's what real niggas do when they at home
Watchin' E.S.P.N. on a 70 inch flatscreen
K.G.'s away Jersey blowin' chronic that green

Gave up the hoop dreams, bubble with the crack dreams
Turn hood zombies into an Olympic track team
Till I got got shot and infiltrated the rap scene
Had to clear my life up, Doc. gave me the vaccine

Don't get it twisted, I still click clack things
Red beam attached to each and every strap
That I keep locked up in my basement
If I shoot a nigga will I be known
For gettin' Jason, I don't know

Still got a sick phase for shoot outs and car chases
Fuck Paccino 'cause we know niggas with scarred faces
And we go back like D-boys with small faces
And we crashin' them Ferraris like y'all hate me

Pharrell I think it's
Somethin' hot in here, nigga, it must be me
Somethin' hot in here, nigga, it must be me
Is it the shades? Is it the J's?
Is it the Bentley with the four colorways?
Or the old school sittin' on glaze, what could it be?

(You know they ass is full)
Niggas can't fuck with me, will stit
I guess I am a motha fuckin' legend, Will Smith
All I'm missin' is a bitch like Jaya, Bonnie and Clyde shit
Hit the fence like later, Syonara or we the dirt shit

Black rose phantom interior hurt shit
And I got some kisses from a couple Brooklyn bitches
Them hoes, they never testify, Beefs to Common
But Game keep it hood like Weez and top Rommy

Never stop comin' for the top
If it bakes a flesh wound if Feralla headshot
Motha fucka and when he take aim, bullets into your frame
My boss and allowed to when trigga swallow your vein

Can't walk through the club and take a piss
Without these new school rap niggas on my dick
Why you fuck around with you jewelry and all your wrist?
I pull up with your bitch pumpin' gangsta shit, now you know

Somethin' hot in here, nigga, it must be me
Somethin' hot in here, nigga, it must be me
Is it the shades? Is it the J's?
Is it the Bentley with the four colorways?
Or the old school sittin' on glaze, what could it be?

Do you thing shawty, do your thing shawty
Do you thing shawty, err'body lookin' now
Do you thing shawty, do your thing shawty
Do you thing shawty, err'body lookin' now

Go, go, go, go, go, go, err'body lookin' now
Go, go, go, go, go, go, err'body lookin' now