作詞J. Taylor, K. Abdul-Rahman, D. Tannenbaum
作曲J. Taylor, K. Abdul-Rahman, D. Tannenbaum
Blood of a slave, heart of a giant
Had to leave aftermath, Dre said I was too defiant
That was five years ago
Look how fast it go
Destroying Interscope
Shot myself like Plaxxico
But fuck that, blaze one
Where the matches yo
Hit the freeway
And see how fast the Aston go
Roll the window down
Clip the ashes so
We can see all my diamonds
And how much cash I blow
How many bitches I fuck
How many cars I drive
How many goons I got
Count em and they all outside
Niggas try to shut me up like Malcolm
But standing in the window chain smoking was the outcome
Sometimes I get a little stressed and pop a valume
Hit Hollywood late night and knock down a stallion
Some niggas think twice about my medallion
On your head, Cuba Gooding yelling "Ricky"

My nostalgia is a hundred percent Compton, zero percent snitch
Park a Bentley and a Phantom on blocks where I used to pitch
Made the Cincinnati fitted more famous than Griffey did
And just to think, several years ago, they tried to split his wig
Two to the chest, struck his heart, one hit his rib
And then I blacked out like a movie and all I could hear

"Get em man, get em, come on lets get up, cut him around the
corner, come on"

Feelin all fucked up, woke up to the doctor
All I could think about was if the cops took my weed and my
They want me to sing like Sinatra, I told the detective

Get this clear, like Belevedere Vodka
Them five shots done created a monster
Hell's kitchen comin straight out of Compton
I seen Boyz N Da Hood
Morris Chestnut was the actor, Tupac was the real life

"Ricky" then they shot down the nigga that shot him
I swear to God, if I'm lyin then Compton is New York and I'm
I'm from where niggas get murdered over stock rims
And punched in the jaw just for a cocked brim
Nobody momma let the cops in
We ain't got no options,
Wanted to be a boxer
But I was boxed in
Then my grandmother house went up for auction
And that's what killed her
I'm going back to ride the block then
Too many niggas locked in
Dig I'm Cochoran
To defend all my niggas
With they face on the stockings
Rather face God than twenty-five with no options
If Compton ain't the murder capital, we in the top ten
Drive by with our face painted like a clown
With a trey pound, forty shells bouncing off the ground
That's how my living room sound when my brother got shot


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