Yo Dre, I thought I was dead
West coast
I’m the doctor’s advocate
n***a Dre shot ya
Brought me back from the dead
That’s why they call him the doctor
The mavs gon’ drop em
If 50 ain’t rockin’ wit him no more
It’s ok, I get it poppin’
The whole club rockin’ like da 6-4 Impala
Drink Cris throw it up call the sh** hydraulics
Then piss in the cup call the sh** Hipnotiq
I bleed Compton, spit crack, the sh** chronic
And you new n***as ain’t sh** but new n***as
Baped n ape shoe n***as I’m talkin’ to you n***a
Bounce in the 6-4 throwin’ up west side man
Sell another five million albums, yes I am
Fresh like damn dis n***a did it again
A hundred thousand on his neck, LA above the brim
Inside the Lambo’, shotgun wit Snoop
What would the muthaf**in’ west coast be without
One crip and one blood?
One blood, one blood, one blood
Blood, blood, blood
One blood, one blood, one blood, one blood, one blood
I’m from the west side of the 6-4 Impala
When n***as say, Where you from?
We’ll never say holla
Bandana on the right side, gun on the left side
n***as in New York know how to throw up the west side
Word to Eazy, I’m so ill believe me
I made room for Jeezy
But the rest of you n***as better be glad you breathing
All I need is one reason
I’m the King and Dre said it the west coast need me
I don’t know why you n***as keep tryin’ me
Everybody know that I’m the heir to the Aftermath dynasty
And I ain’t got to make sh** for the club
What DJ gon’ turn down the 38 snub?
You 38 and you still rappin’? Uhh
I’m 26 n***a, so is the dubs
On the 07 Hummer hop out
Nobody guards, when the chronic
Smoke clear, all you gon’ see is one blood
One blood, one blood, one blood
Blood, blood, blood
One blood, one blood, one blood, one blood, one blood
I ain’t got beef wit 50, no beef wit J
What’s beef when you gettin’ head in the 6 trey?
And the double game change, I keep em on display
Black t-shirt so all you see is the A
Turn on the TV and all you see is the A
You n***as better make up a dance and try to get radio play
Keep on snappin’ your fingers, I ain’t goin’ away
I don’t regret what I spit, cause I know what I say
And n***as talk about me, they don’t know when to stop
I got the Louis Vuitton belt buckle holdin’ the glock
No beam, no silencer, I know when to pop
I wait till Lil’ Jon come on and let off a shot
I had the number one Billboard spot
n***as stepped on my fingers and I climbed right back to the top
I’m BIG, I’m Cube, I’m Nas, I’m Pac
This ain’t sh** but a warning till my album drop
One blood, one blood, one blood, one blood
Blood, blood, blood
One blood, one blood, one blood, one blood, one blood
One blood, one blood, one blood, one blood
Blood, blood, blood