The Game — Run Up

[Intro: The Game] West Coast, it's all about survival nigga West Coast, California's own Black Wall Street, D.P.G.C You niggas know what it is Compton and Long Beach back together again [Verse 1: Ice Cube] Security pat-downs I'm a star, motherfucker, I been put the gat down I been put' the MAC down But check the people that I'm with 'Cause they'll lay you flat down And they'll do it right now Yeah, you scared of the phone numbers that a nigga might dial Club-hop, car shows, picnics Big cars, big jewels, big dicks Rush doors, or gotta hop the fence Clothing stores, gotta blow my rent Gotta show my ass, then go repent Gotta call in sick, and tell 'em where I went (buck 'em, buck 'em, buck 'em) Don't want no problems, y'all Fuck around, I'll pull out the problem solved And watch egos dissolve Nine times out of ten, you hoes involved [Hook] You gotta problem nigga run up They get [?] go be [?] [?] give a fuck, I'ma do my thang Representing the city from which I came [Verse 2: The Game] It's too much gangsta shit goin' on in the fuckin' world For niggas to be actin' like girls I'm the Gangbang General, never rhyme a subliminal 12-gauge shotty to your body, a fuckin' criminal A animal, West Coast beat cannibal Who got the antidote? I'm sick on this gangsta shit Not Blood or Crip, I'm a Anybody Killa For realer, half Blood half motherfuckin' gorilla Suicidal, my flow is a automatic rifle My rag is a flag, I should hang it from the fuckin' Eiffel Tower MC's I devour, a lyrical time bomb I explode to the next episode Cutlass ridin', butler drivin' Head low 'cause it's all about motherfuckin' survivin' In the city I claim, Westside we bang The Game, and the D.P.G.C. gang [Verse 3: YG] Goin' goin' back back to the bank Rest in peace to my safe I'ma fly nigga nigga I take your ho I'll have to leave her if she did me like Coco The devil talkin' to me, but I dont hear him Act like I'm deaf like So-So Fuck you, fuck him, fuck them Fuck my ex and her cohorts Hundred bottles in the club, for no reason Niggas start trippin', boom bow dope fiend Fendi on my shoes, Fendi on my belt I'm in the Fendi store, I dont need help All gold everything like Trinidad I went to high school, with you bitch you been a rat I don't got money problems, I got trust issues Two things I gotta stayin' with, two pistols