Walking down the street, in my All Stars In my, khaki suit, doin what I do Walking down the street, smoking, chronic In my black locs, lookin, at you Guess who's back on the West coast tracks It's the motherfucking messiah of gangsta rap Still dip in the six-fo', 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 trying to stay on top Bitch nigga check your Kotex You niggas ain't moving shit like the hand on a fake-ass Rolex I'm five million sold The cover of my last album the only time you see me sittin on gold I'm the most anticipated, most celebrated Most loved and the motherfucking most hated Keep rolling like gold Daytons Niggas got the game fucked up like Hennessy with a Coke chaser You gotta deal with me, I'm the West Coast savior Niggas think of me every time they six-fo' scraper What do you call a nigga who's overbearing Belligerent, foul, defiant and very disrespectful? You call that nigga the Doctor's Advocate He's a reflection of Dr. Dre in his heyday in the worst way The five star surgeon general Took Jayceon to the Aftermath research department And gave him a blood test It came back G-A-M-E positive The nigga's infected with the Game virus His oratorical skills are so impeccable That niggas in the streets call him Cyrus The young damu's down with violence Cause in his heart he's a tyrant It's not a game, it's just called The Game There'll be no referees, no halftime reports When the game is over, The Game is over You can't put a quarter in the machine and get three mo' men THAT'S, the end Walking down the street, in my All Stars In my, khaki suit, doin what I do Walking down the street, smoking, chronic In my black locs, lookin, at you I done 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 can't take my plaques I'm the motherfucking snare when it touch the beat I'm the 808 drum that got you movin your feet I'm the heir to the throne after the D-R-E Product of my environment, you old-ass niggas Get ready for your early retirement Before I let hip-hop burn down I run in the building like a fireman Who can outspit me when I'm high off sticky Throwing back Patron shots in some creased up dickies I'm D.O.C. certified, Ice Cube lynch'd me Snoop stamped me and the good Doc handpicked me You still with me? Me and my mic can't be separated like Interscope and hahaha Ohh shit This some good ass motherfucking weed California sticky green! This is the aftermath for the Aftermath West, coast!