[Intro:]
|
Compton.
|
Compton.
|
Compton.
|
Compton.
|
Compton.
|
|
Real Compton City G's...
|
Real Compton City G's...
|
Real Compton City G's...
|
|
[Verse 1:]
|
Hey Yo' doctor, here's another proper track
|
& it's phat, watch the sniper, time to pay the piper
|
& let that real stuff provoke, see you's a wanna be 'loc
|
& you'll get smoked & I hope that your fan's understand
|
When you talk about playin' me, the same records that you makin' is payin' me
|
********* Dre
|
********* Snoop
|
********* Death Row
|
Yo & here comes my left blow
|
'cause I'm the E A Z Y E & this is the season
|
To let the Real Compton City G's in
|
Your like a kid, you found it bumpin' down your dapper,
|
But tell me where the hell you found that anorexic rapper
|
Talkin' about who you gon' squabble wit & who you shoot
|
Your only 60 pounds when your wet & wearin' boots.
|
{Damn E, they tried to fade you on Dre Day.}
|
But Dre Day only meant Eazy's pay day
|
All of a sudden Dr. Dre is a G thing
|
But on his old album covers he was a she thing
|
So sucker please, sucker please don't step to these Real Compton City G's.
|
|
Stop him in his tracks & show him I'm ruthless.
|
Yo Dre. "What's up?" (Censor) Boy you should've known by now.
|
|
Every day it's a new rapper, claimin' to be dapper than the Dresta
|
Softer than a girl but portray the role of gangsta
|
Ain't broke a law in your life, yet every time you rap you yap about the guns & knifes
|
Just take a good look at the brother & you'll capture
|
The fact, that the bastard is simply just an actor
|
Who mastered the bang & the slang & the Mental
|
Of homies in Compton, Watts & South Central
|
Never ever once have you ran with the turf
|
But yet in every verse claim you used to do the dirt
|
But tell me who's a witness to your damn work
|
See you never had no business, so save the drama jerk
|
Brothers straight kill me knowin' that they prankster's
|
This is goin' out to you studio gangsta's
|
See I did dirt, put in work & many brothers can vouch that
|
So since I got stripes I got the right to rap about that
|
But brothers like you, I gotta hate you
|
Cause I'm just tired of Suburbian Brothers talkin' about they come from projects
|
Knowin' you ain't seen the parts of the streets G
|
I Think you start tryin' to bang around the time of the peace treaty
|
Wearin' khaki's & mob while you rhyme, little *** tried to sag
|
But you frontin' at the same time & your set don't accept you
|
Scared to kick it with your homies 'cause you know they don't respect you
|
So brother please, brother please, don't step to these Real Compton City G's.
|
|
[Verse 3:]
|
Well, it's the Knocc Out, definition original baby gangsta
|
Approach me like you whore little buster I'm a bank ya
|
Shank ya, with my damn shank, if I hafta
|
Dr. Dre an' Snoop Doggy Dogg are really actors
|
Pranksters, studio gangsta's, busters
|
But this time your dealin' with some real last brothers
|
G's, fool please, don't try to step
|
See if you do, then a peeled cap is all that would be left
|
See young brothers like me will break you off somethin'
|
Claimin' my city, but Dre you ain't from Compton
|
Suckers like y'all is what I call wanna be's
|
& ain't Nothin' compared to Real Compton City G's.
|
|
Stop him in his tracks & show him I'm Ruthless.
|
Yo Dre. "What's up?" (Censor)
|
|
I never met a ol' G who never did nothin' wrong
|
You tried to diss the Eazy E so now sucker it's on
|
You & your Doggy Dogg, think that y'all hoggin' it
|
Both of you tricks can come & suck my doggy dick
|
Beatin' up a Blvd. don't make you it, but then again some brothers
|
Think it makes a man, damn it's a trip
|
How a player can switch so quick from wearin' lipstick
|
To smokin' on Chronic at picnic's & now you think your bigger
|
But to me you ain't nothin' but a trick ass buster
|
That ain't worth a food stamp
|
& at Death Row, I hear your gettin' treated like boot cap
|
Gotta follow your sergeant's directions, or get your ass
|
Popped with the Smith & Wesson, learn a lesson from the E's
|
Stay in your place & don't |