.44 Mag

(Intro) Somebody better tell these niggas N.W.A is back.. Yo, Whoo Kid let 'em know! Eazy has just left the building.. (Verse) What happened to that boy? He ran with the wrong gang Fucked up in the hood, brought fiends the wrong cane N.W.A nigga..yeah Compton still crooked Make niggas fly off them ropes like Jimmy Fly Snuka Your Neighborhood pusher..and I got them clips Streets is talking, ''Game got shot by crips!'' It's okay, the kid catch bullets like Tim Brown And your right back in the field with the rock like Jim Brown The young gun..Not Memphis Bleek The protege of Doc Dre with them bricks for cheap I hustle in the C.P.T. where they play for keeps No money in the dice game nigga, we play for pinks And the kid got a 6-8 game like T-Mack With N.W.A on his neck like Eazy-E back And the desert eagle bang like a D-R-E track So try to ball and get left with Pat Ewing kneecaps I'm gangsta like tan khakis and air max Chuck Taylors and Evisu jeans The kid gotta raw flow..Niggas think he from Queens I love rap..but Dre I gotta please the fiends! Plus my daughter need some things, So I got Roc in Philly like Freeway, Chris, Neef and Beans I got birds in Boston, but I ain't on no dream team I'm on the block in a McLaren that's chronic leaf green And I run with the A-Team, do my doc dre thing I retire you in that 6th like Docter J's team And I'm still gangbanging.. Tan khaki suit, red rag in my back pocket, N.W.A chain hanging Leave your brains hanging for less than a dollar So if you ain't got a vest better holla We got those impalas, new handguns and yay for sale Give you a dope track so you ain't gotta pay Pharrell And I ain't never spent a day in jail But I move weight like whales On Rosecrans with a 8th on the scale So you ain't gotta ask Dre..if I bang in Compton Just know, when I'm cuffed I'm going straight to the gang module In county blue C-B-P on my neck And walk the main line with AT&T on my chest The kid hit the streets, he in a vest Wit a hoodrat from Compton wit a tattoo of Eazy-E on her breast She gon' ride, it don't matter homies or cold D's Hands up, that revolver spin like gold D's And you ain't gotta know The Game to know he from Compton And our motto is fuck the police, holla! (Outro) Yeah Aftermath nigga, '03 and after that We running this rap shit Be concerned It's The Game Aka Chuck Taylor I'm coming nigga, a hundnid miles and running You know I got to holla at my nigga D-Mack The black George Clooney It's our turn nigga Whoo Kid I told you they weren't ready dawg '03, Aftermath, who fuckin' with us?