One motherfucker in the projects killing The same motherfucker that'll burn down the village With a chronic blunt full of that - you know, who don't Take you back to Compton in that 6-4 two door Subwoofers in the trunk, kicking that lethal injection A hood nigga lost with no direction So he bought a black Smith and Wesson Strapped on his vest and that's his protection At the intersection waiting on the rival Coz in the city of angels it's all about survival Fuck the 5-0, they wanna see you D.O.A. Welcome to L.A. Where the ghetto birds flying over my auntie's and my cousin's house Tell me what they buzzin bout The lil homie got smoked on the corner And now his momma crying, dead in California
[Chorus: The Game & Ice Cube]
Motherfuckers ain't gon learn Til the chronic blunt don't burn And you cant see nothing but the ghetto bird light shining through the fucking palm trees California ain't a state, it's an army
Motherfuckers ain't gon learn Til the chronic blunt don't burn And you cant see nothing but the ghetto bird light shining through the fucking palm trees California ain't a state, it's an army
[Verse 2: The Game]
Jumped in my Impala took a trip to the ? To scoop up Ego Trippin' and a white tee Coz some niggas in my old hood don't like me Time to put they ass in check, like my Nikes Til they hear my nigga Mack 10 on the chirp All I need is me and my bitch You scared? Go to church Coz in California niggas crack heads for the turf Their life ain't nothing but Tec 9's and dirt Dipping through the jungles, my Escalade hit a dip Fuck! Here come the Guerrillas in the Mist And they dress like Ice Cube was in '96 Stone cold jheri curl and not one drip I'll sleep with the worms before I swim with the fish And I'll ride with my niggas before I roll with a bitch If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense And I almost got shot coz I couldn't hit a fence
[Chorus: The Game & Ice Cube]
Motherfuckers ain't gon learn Til the chronic blunt don't burn And you cant see nothing but the ghetto bird light shining through the fucking palm trees California ain't a state, it's an army
Motherfuckers ain't gon learn Til the chronic blunt don't burn And you cant see nothing but the ghetto bird light shining through the fucking palm trees California ain't a state, it's an army
[Verse 3: The Game]
Call the U.S. government and tell em this a motherfucking code red Niggas try to straight-up jack me Now they both dead Third little nigga got away on his moped Caught him 'round the corner, put the beam on his forehead Jumped in the Impala then smashed through the light Without a one-time in sight, so I bust right on Century headed to the L.A.X. Where their ain't nothing but fly bitches and jets In and out of lanes and I almost wrecked Off bread nigga in the 600 throwing up the set He must don't know, I got the 40 on deck and the Tec Tryna ?? time to flex It's the third time this shit happened to me all day Guess it's time to add another dead body to the throwaway So I turn down the Spice 1 tape and hit the switch Emptied a whole clip in his fucking face
[Chorus: The Game & Ice Cube]
Motherfuckers ain't gon learn Til the chronic blunt don't burn And you cant see nothing but the ghetto bird light shining through the fucking palm trees California ain't a state, it's an army
Motherfuckers ain't gon learn Til the chronic blunt don't burn And you cant see nothing but the ghetto bird light shining through the fucking palm trees California ain't a state, it's an army