Ricky

[Intro: Boyz n the Hood (1991)]

Doughboy: Shit! Rick! Come on, man!

Tre: Ricky!

Help me! Help me! Somebody, help me!

Ricky, Ricky!

Ricky!

[Verse 1: The Game]

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

Destroyin' Interscope, shot myself like Plaxico

But fuck that, blaze one, where the matches, yo?

Hit the freeway and see how fast the Aston go

Roll the window down, clip off the ashes so

You 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 Malcom

But standin' in the window K smokin' was the outcome

Sometimes I get a little stressed and pop a Valium

Hit Hollywood late night and knock down a stallion

So niggas think twice 'bout my medallion or

You'll hear Cuba Gooding yelling "Ricky!"

My nostalgia is a hunnid percent Compton, zero percent snitch

Park a Bentley and the 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

Then I blacked out, like a movie, all I could hear

[Interlude: Boyz n the Hood (1991)]

Come on, let's get 'em, let's get em

Get 'em, man, get 'em

Cut him off, cut him off, pull right here, cut him off

Go, man, go

[Verse 2: The Game]

Feelin' all fucked up, woke up to a doctor

All I could think about was if the cops took my weed and my choppers

They want me to sing like Sinatra,

I told the detective get this clear like Belvedere vodka

Them five that shots then created a monster

Hell's Kitchen comin' straight out of Compton

I seen Boyz n the Hood, Morris Chestnut was a actor

2Pac was the real life "Ricky!"

Then they shot down the nigga that shot him, swear to God

If I'm lying then Compton is New York and I'm Rakim

I'm from where niggas get murdered over stock rims

And punched in the jaw just for a cocked brim

Nobody mama 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 goin' back to buy the block then

Too many niggas locked in, dig up Cochran

And defend all my niggas ith they face under stockings

Rather face God than 25 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 tre-pound, forty shells bouncin' off the ground

This how my livin' room sound, when my brother got shot down

(Crying (sample from Boyz n the Hood))