Still Me Lyrics

Intro

(Ikay)
Yow! A weh di f*ck do dem?
Black Wallstreet, Cry Nation,
Yeah!
From Kingston to Compton… Ha ha,
Yow Game! Weh yuh deh pon?
Warminister!
Ha ha… Dem fi know,
Yeah!
Game! f*ck wid dem.

Verse 1

(The Game)
Straight outta the motherf*ckin pissy hallway in the projects,
To park in a four door Bentley on my set,
Same hood, same motherf*ckin steps I sat on and took the plastic off of "Life After Death",
Bangin, boning Biggie Biggie i did a 360,
The Aftermath for that is the nigga 50 ain’t wit me,
No hard feelings, we both made millions,
You can hate me or love me but nigga I spit real shit,
like I'm comatose, tell the Doc I'm sick,
Before "Detox", let me take my last chronic hit.
Now I am gangsta rap,
Inhale the weed smoke and coughed up five platinum plaques,
So I’m a let the nigga Dr. Dre hit,
Next time I have dreams of f*ckin an R&B bitch,
I don't make love, I make hits,
I put a condom on and stuff my dick in this Hip Hop shit.

Chorus

(Mya)
Feels good…
Gangsta…
Still hood…
Gangsta.

Verse 2

(The Game)
I’m that six figure nigga,
Who got the word from KRS-ONE and stole the Blueprint from Jigga,
Niggaz yellin Game did this, Game did that,
Game ain’t do shit but bring the motherf*ckin West Coast back,
I hear the whisperin goin on in the hood,
I sent a motherf*ckin Hallmark card to Suge,
That nigga know that we all good,
So you can catch a cab to Hell wit them death threats I'm already dead, I put the .38 revolver to my own f*ckin head,
before I let the shit eat my conscience,
Ain’t a nigga in the world could tell me I can't come thru Compton,
Before I retire my Converse, I'll ride the train thru NYC with the terrorist bombers,
Somebody tell my mama I'm crazy,
Poppa was a Rolling Stone so that makes me a crack baby,
I'm in rehab three times a week,
because I'm a motherf*ckin fiend for a Dr. Dre beat.

Chorus

(Mya)
Feels good…
Gangsta…
Still hood…
Gangsta.

Verse 3

(Ikay)
Uh, Yea! Uh,
It’s da motherf*ckin I dot,
Jamaica on my back,
Ten pounds of weed on my block,
Cops coming, hide that,
I’m so f*ckin blessed,
Straight off da River, so f*cking fresh,
Heyy!
Mi got mi chopper pon mi,
p*ssyhole! Suck yuh mother, tek yuh eyes off mi rapper money,
Got respect fi di shottas only,
Stick to the streets like cheese to macaroni,
A weh di f*ck do dem,
Five shots, a duppy dem,
Glock innah mi hand, mi a go fi dem,
Big dog never scared ah di puppy dem,
I got no love fi dem,
Got slugs fi dem,
I be on some street shit,
Weed in my eyes so I can’t see shit,
Be on some G shit,
Let dem niggaz talk, run up on you wit da Hawk and squeeze clips,
They wanna know where da nigga from,
Kingston Jamaica got dem niggaz bombed,
I’m never wrong,
I am the the street motherf*ckas, here I am.

Chorus

(Mya)
Feels good…
Gangsta…
Still hood…
Gangsta.

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