100 Bars & Runnin

[Intro Skit]

[Verse]

Who be, standing on Compton Blvd. in them Gucci's

Drinking a 40, it's me, the nigga with the uzi

Standing by the new 6 with creamy white rocks

White Tee, Dickies and a black fitted White Sox

This ain't Chi-Town but we got a windy city

'Cause every bitch and fiend in Compton blow

Dr. Dre signed the kid, watch Compton blow

We got a Cali gangbanger with a Yonkers flow

Now the streets is talking, wanna know where Dre found him

In that Impala, the same Impala I keep my pound in

Ain't no telling what the Game will do, motherfucka

I'll blow the guts out the dutch and do the same to you

And just to get shit cracking, I'll drop the toaster

Grab the Louie go Sammy Sosa

And you ain't gotta know me to know that

I hop out a new pink Rolls, with the '52 Pete Rose throwback

Haze in my eyes, listening to Bobby Womack

On the same corner where Eazy-E sold coke at

I'm the nigga that'll smoke the purple

Get high as a kite, down half the Grey Goose

And choke one of your workers

Don't make me put two in your shirt

Dawg, I'm putting in work

Then move bags like Dooney and Bourke

Then stuff work in the GMC

'Cause on my block, I'm the king of rock like Run DMC

And I'll come through in the tan prowler

With guns in the stash

That'll turn your man face into clam chowder

Hold that damn powder, my niggas will squeeze

And bust all night like it's New Year's Eve

So lace your Timbs and polish your Gators

We like odds in Vegas

You can't ball then it's probably the haters

You can't breathe, then it's probably the desert

If you a gangsta or not

I give a fuck, dawg, bullets is hot

And you can find me in the hood with rocks and the Pyrex

Tan khakis and them Nike Airs with the dyed checks

And you know my CK's in your mommy hamper

'Cause I got a six tre that changes colors like Jolly Ranchers

And Busta Rhymes told me how to make money

If it ain't rap, it's the mac

Run up on you and take money

Now I signed with the 'math, I got out-of-state money

White boy from Yale, Cancun spring break money

Canary yellow diamonds in my chain, take honey

To the Four Seasons, before 4 I'm skeetin'

Before 5, she leaving

I know her man and I know what a four-five will leave him

On Rosecrans bleeding

The old man seen em', and he won't tell

He on a seafood diet and he don't eat shells

Ghost town back on the map, we gon' eat well

Nieces and nephews, Barbie cars with Sprewells

Ask around, they'll tell you I'm good with the raw cane

And skipped college then handle the rock like LeBron James

And I ain't mean to take shots at The Roc, or call names

Tell Jay when he visits LA to call Game

Let him know I squashed that beef, I'm bigger than that

In 5 years, I'm trying to be where Jigga is at

The CPT, that's where me and my niggas is at

Standing by that new Ferrari, liquorice black

And I got a story to tell, my yay talk to me but

Nobody believe that my yay talk to me

Late night in the coupe, Marvin Gaye talk to me

When I'm gangsta leaning, twisting purple haze off Remy

And the rims ain't cost me a penny

Came in the dice game

Z with the white frame and go with the Pumas

Think about it, you can die sooner

Got my .40 from Cincinnati and it throws bullets like boomer

Fuck a rumor, I copped a Lamborghini

Ride with the AC on

Red rag over my face and an Angels beanie

When you see me in the streets, it's real

It ain't no bangin' on wax, nigga, Compton is back

These rap niggas is hoes, need to holler at Don Juan

Faggot niggas with g strings under their Sean Jean

I'll let em' have it on a Compton strip, clip for clip

Or walk block for block through Harlem with Von Zip

Black Chuck Taylors, canaries shining on my wrist

With a desert and a line and grindin' like the Clipse

And they don't know if I'm a Blood or a Crip

When they see me rock the cherry khaki suit

Inside a smurf blue 6

And the fifth get em' downtown faster than 5 tokens

And put niggas in the ICU like bifocals

And I kill bi-coastal

I'll smash your Jersey

J. Kidd or the yellow and purple

The harder the nigga, the harder the work is

So I get high and listen to Pac's first shit before I write verses

I'm the Shaq on the block, Kobe with the rock

West with the shot, so nickname my johnson "Earvin"

Don't get murdered

I got a Glock in the holster

That'll blow your fucking brains off the top of your shoulders

Dog, I keep it gangsta like I'm supposed to

With a 12 gauge shotty and that Testarossa

NWA soldier, I'm no good, I'm so hood

Holla if you wanna die that bad, I bust guns that fast

And I rock my rag, like it's 88 and niggas still rockin' Shaft

So put the hundreds in the bag

Or I'ma put the eagle to your helmet

And the 5th to your chest like Donovan McNabb

I keep 16 in the clip, and I'll let em' all go

Like The Lakers did Elton, Eddie and Nick

We got bricks for 11-5, So many fiends

It's like a nigga been on the same corner since '75

N.W.A will never die

And I'm Compton's most wanted

100 bars and runnin'!

[Outro]

Look what the fuck the wind blew in

Yo Clue, you better let em' know, nigga

This is Aftermath's young gun

Oh, you thought it was hard to get a deal on the west before?

Welcome to them fucking record labels now

If you ain't spitting like The Game in 10 bars or less, your shit is a frisbee, nigga

So you better be concerned

This Chuck Taylor, muthafucka

And I'll bring the west coast back by myself if I got to

You don't believe me?

Ask the nigga standing next to you

See what the fuck he gotta say

Holla