"Shit! Rick! C'mon man!" "Ricky!" "Help me! Help me! Somebody, help me!" "Ricky, Ricky!" "Ricky!" Blood of a slave, heart of a giant Had to leave Aftermath, Dre said I was too defiant That was five years ago, look how fast it go Destroyin' Interscope, shot myself like Plaxico But fuck that, blaze one, where the matches yo? Hit the freeway and see how fast the Aston go Roll the window down, clip off the ashes so You can see all my diamonds and how much cash I blow How many bitches I fuck, how many cars I drive How many goons I got, count 'em and they all outside Niggas try to shut me up like Malcom But standin' in the window caine smoking was the outcome Sometimes I get a little stressed and pop a Valium Hit Hollywood late night and knock down a stallion So niggas think twice about my medallion or You'll hear Cuba Gooding yelling "Ricky!" My nostalgia is one hundred percent Compton and zero percent snitch Park a Bentley and the Phantom on blocks while I use the pitch Made the Cincinnati fitted more famous than Griffey did And just to think, several years ago they tried to split his wig Two to the chest, struck his heart, one hit his rib Then I blacked out, like a movie, all I could hear Feelin' all fucked up, woke up to a doctor All I could think about, was that the cops took my weed and my choppers They want me to sing, like Sinatra, I told the detective Get this clear like Belvedere vodka Them five shots, they created a monster Hell's Kitchen comin' straight out of Compton I seen Boyz in the Hood, Morris Chestnut was a actor 2Pac was the real life "Ricky!" Then they shot down the nigga that shot him, I swear to God If I'm lying then Compton is New York and I'm Rakim I'm from where niggas get murdered over stock rims And punched in the jaw just for a cocked brim Nobody mama let the cops in, we ain't got no options Wanted to be a boxer, but I was boxed in Then my grandmother house went up for auction And that's what killed 'em, I'm goin' back to buy the block then Too many niggas locked in, dig up Cochran and defend all my niggas With they faith under stockings, rather face God then twenty-five with no options If Compton ain't the murder capital, we in the top ten Drive by with our face painted, like a clown With a tre-pound, forty shells bouncin' off the ground This how my living room sound, when my brother got shot down