West Coast Resurrection lyrics

[Chorus 2X: The Game]
Real gangstas stand up, hold they dick
Bitch niggaz sit down to piss - what type of nigga is you?
I'm the type to pack a gat or few
Pull out and pop, simply cause I'm mad at you

[The Game]
Y'all niggaz see me when I'm come through; and ain't no denyin
that them big motherfuckers is twenty-five
Swayin in and out of white line, six double-oh

(JT the bigga figga)

Sometimes I wonder
Man, how long is it gon' be for my people to come out
Man we strugglin, it's hard sometimes, but
Tomorrow's better than yesterday, uhh

[The Game]
I was, born in the slums, struggled from day one
Ray Charles vision, blinded by the light from the sun
No navigation, no sense of direction, darker complexion
made it hard to live; dad, how you fathered your kids?

yo yo yoyo yoooooooooo
i'm the game
the best
right before fame
kick your ass right, make you look lame,
rolli' a six deuce
with the deuce deuce fully loaded clip
make you look as bad as lil flip
i got the coke stack
and you better watch your back
im hustlin' the best coke,
im mackin' on the finest hoez
and i got the best impala on dros
rollin 13 by 7's
chrome wires

[JT]
We on our third song, we on our third song, heyyeyy

You understand it, I'm official with mine; I'm double-clutchin
on the fo'-wheel, pushin quarters like niggaz doin dope deals
Fo' cut 50 like a verse and a half
I cut the brick and now we countin the math, we 'bout that birdplay
My crew's committed, you dudes gon' get it

[The Game]
You can catch five, or catch me in the CL-5
Whatever way dog, the Game get live
Keepin it gangsta in a P.D. fitted velour
Late night I'm in Dublin's and I got myself a four
The hood love me, hoodrats gotta hug me
Pop ex, spark the buba, the shit get ugly
Rock the mic anywhere, and I ain't talkin 'bout a concert dog
Talkin 'bout ten niggaz in converts dog

(We gangsta daddy!)

[Sean T]
Yuh!
I'm sippin on that 'notiq the color of Hulk man
And the blueberry smoke got a nigga twerkin
You niggaz is perkin - so you doin it big?
You roll deep but when I see you it's just you and your kids
I roll sick, my rims feel like helicopter propellers
And my pockets run deep like a Mercer teller
Haters trip when they see the whip dippin by

[19 second instrumental to open]

[Sky]
Who's hot, who's not; I been the hottest thing
on the West, ever since the death of Tupac
Kept my crack in clear capsules with blue tops
And it's still nothin for me to get you shot
You see him? Yup, the same ol' pimp
Sky baller, and ain't nuttin changed but my limp
Natural born player, mine not a lame or a simp

[JT]
Get Low Records motherfucker
Bringin the best to the table
Bluechip, Nina B, {?}, what it is
JT Get Low motherfucker that's what it is motherfucker
Yeah, who fuckin with us nigga
Now (what goes around comes around)
I'm puttin this clique up nigga against all you niggaz
Now get it right

[Verse One: Bluechip]
Hey yo, this is where I see me in this game

[The Game]
Niggaz don't really want it, just talkin out the side of they neck
How many gangsters you know, ain't scared of death
That's why I, ride with tecs, soon as I pull 'em out
breathe easy nigga they tryin to get them bullets out
It was all good a week ago, you was callin shots in the hood
Bitch now you so {?} the hood
Used to be a gang leader, now your gang need ya