The Game - Lookin at You lyrics

[Hook: sung by Tracey Nelson] Walking down the street, in my All Stars In my, khaki suit, doin what I do Walking down the street, smoking, chronic In my black locs, lookin, at you [The Game] Guess who's back on the West coast tracks It's the motherf**ing messiah of gangsta rap Still dip in the six-fo', still puffin on the same chronic Haters mad cause I still got it I never fall off, even without the Doc You n***as sellin your soul trying to stay on top b**h n***a check your Kotex You n***as ain't moving sh** like the hand on a fake-a** Rolex I'm five million sold The cover of my last album the only time you see me sittin on gold I'm the most anticipated, most celebrated Most loved and the motherf**ing most hated Keep rolling like gold Daytons n***as got the game f**ed up like Hennessy with a Coke chaser You gotta deal with me, I'm the West Coast savior n***as think of me every time they six-fo' scraper [Mac Minister] What do you call a n***a who's overbearing Belligerent, foul, defiant and very disrespectful? You call that n***a the Doctor's Advocate He's a reflection of Dr. Dre in his heyday in the worst way The five star surgeon general Took Jayceon to the Aftermath research department And gave him a blood test It came back G-A-M-E positive The n***a's infected with the Game virus His oratorical sk**s are so impeccable That n***as in the streets call him Cyrus The young damu's down with violence Cause in his heart he's a tyrant It's not a game, it's just called The Game There'll be no referees, no halftime reports When the game is over, The Game is over You can't put a quarter in the machine and get three mo' men THAT'S, the end [Hook] [The Game] I done been to hell and back Left for dead, you know who to thank for that Finished my second LP without a Dr. Dre track You can take my soul but can't take my plaques I'm the motherf**ing snare when it touch the beat I'm the 808 drum that got you movin your feet I'm the heir to the throne after the D-R-E Product of my environment, you old-a** n***as Get ready for your early retirement Before I let hip-hop burn down I run in the building like a fireman Who can outspit me when I'm high off sticky Throwing back Patron shots in some creased up dickies I'm D.O.C. certified, Ice Cube lynch'd me Snoop stamped me and the good Doc handpicked me You still with me? Me and my mic can't be separated like Interscope and - hahaha Ohhh sh** This some good a** motherf**ing weed California sticky green! This is the aftermath for the Aftermath West, coast!