The Game - Lookin' At You lyrics | LyricsFreak
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Lookin' At You Lyrics

The Game – Lookin' At You Lyrics


Walkin' down the street, and ma allstarz,
In ma khaki suit, doin what I do
Walkin' down the street, smokin chronic,
In ma black lotus, lookin' at you


Guess who's back on the west coast tracks,
Its the mother fucking messiah and gangsta raps,
Still dippin the 6-4, still puffin on the same chronic,
Haters mad 'cause I still got it
I never fall off even without the doc'
You niggas sellin your soul tryin to stay on top,
Bitch nigga checkin kotex,
You niggas aint movin shit like the hand on a fake ass rollex

I'm 5 million sold the cover of my last album
The only time you see me sittin on gold
I'm the most anticipated, the most celebrated
The most loved and the mother fuckin most hated,
Keep rollin like gold daytons
Niggas got the game fucked up like Henessey with a coke chaser,
You gotta deal with me I'm the west coast savior
Niggas think of me everytime they 6-4 scrape,
What do you call a nigga whose older,
Parady, belligerance, foul defined,
And very disrespectful, you call that nigga a doctor's advocate,
He's a reflection of Dr. Dre in his hey day in the worst way,
The 5 star surgeon / general took Jayson
To the aftermath research department,
And gave 'em a blood test, that came back G-A-M-E positive,
The niggas infected with the game virus,
His oraltorical skills are so impeckable, that niggas in the street call him Sirus,
The young damu is down with violence cause in his heart he's a tyrant
Its not a game, it's just called the game,
There will be no referee, no half time report,
When the game is over, the game is over,
You can't put a quarter in the machine and get 3 more men,
That's the end


Walkin' down the street, and my allstarz,
In my khaki suit, doin what I do
Walkin' down the street, smokin chronic,
In ma black lotus, lookin' at you


I'd of 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 you can't take my plaques,
I'm the mother fuckin' snair when you touch the beat,
I'm the 808 drum that got you movin your feet,
I'm the heir to the throne after the D-are-E,
Product of my enviorment you old ass niggas get ready for your early retirement,
Before I let hip-hop burn down I'll run in the buildin like a fireman
Who can out spit me when I'm high off sticky,
Throwin back Patrone shots in some creased up dickies
I'm D. O. C certified, ice cube lenched me, snoop stamped me and the good doc hand picked me,
You still wit me? Me and my mic can't be separated like interscope and...(haha)

Good shit
Some good ass mother fuckin' weed
The california sticky green
This is the aftermath of the aftermath
West coast!
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