Run Up

[Intro: The Game]
West Coast, it's all about survival nigga
West Coast, California's own
Black Wall Street, D.P.G.C
You niggas know what it is
Compton and Long Beach back together again

[Verse 1: Ice Cube]
Security pat-downs
I'm a star, motherfucker, I been put the gat down
I been put' the MAC down
But check the people that I'm with
'Cause they'll lay you flat down
And they'll do it right now
Yeah, you scared of the phone numbers that a nigga might dial
Club-hop, car shows, picnics
Big cars, big jewels, big dicks
Rush doors, or gotta hop the fence
Clothing stores, gotta blow my rent
Gotta show my ass, then go repent
Gotta call in sick, and tell 'em where I went
(buck 'em, buck 'em, buck 'em)
Don't want no problems, y'all
Fuck around, I'll pull out the problem solved
And watch egos dissolve
Nine times out of ten, you hoes involved

[Chorus]
You gotta problem nigga run up
They get [?] go be [?]
[?] give a fuck, I'ma do my thang
Representing the city from which I came

[Verse 2: The Game]
It's too much gangsta shit goin' on in the fuckin' world
For niggas to be actin' like girls
I'm the Gangbang General, never rhyme a subliminal
12-gauge shotty to your body, a fuckin' criminal
A animal, West Coast beat cannibal
Who got the antidote? I'm sick on this gangsta shit
Not Blood or Crip, I'm a Anybody Killa
For realer, half Blood half motherfuckin' gorilla
Suicidal, my flow is a automatic rifle
My rag is a flag, I should hang it from the fuckin' Eiffel Tower
MC's I devour, a lyrical time bomb
I explode to the next episode
Cutlass ridin', butler drivin'
Head low 'cause it's all about motherfuckin' survivin'
In the city I claim, Westside we bang
The Game, and the D.P.G.C. gang

[Verse 3: YG]
Goin' goin' back back to the bank
Rest in peace to my safe
I'ma fly nigga nigga I take your ho
I'll have to leave her if she did me like Coco
The devil talkin' to me, but I dont hear him
Act like I'm deaf like So-So
Fuck you, fuck him, fuck them
Fuck my ex and her cohorts
Hundred bottles in the club, for no reason
Niggas start trippin', boom bow dope fiend
Fendi on my shoes, Fendi on my belt
I'm in the Fendi store, I dont need help
All gold everything like Trinidad
I went to high school, with you bitch you been a rat
I don't got money problems, I got trust issues
Two things I gotta stayin' with, two pistols