Dre, I see dead people
Yo Dre, thought I was dead
West Coast
Verse 1:
I’m the Doctor’s Advocate, homey Dre — ya
Brought me back from the dead, that’s why they call him the Doctor
The Math gonna drop him and 50 ain’t rockin’
With him no more, it’s okay, I get it —
Whole club rockin’ like a ‘6-4 Impala
Drink Cris’, throw it up, you can call it hydraulics
Then spit in a cup, you can call it Hypnotic
I bleed Compton, spit yak and drink tonic
And you new rappers ain’t nothin’ but new rappers
Bathing Ape shoe rappers, I’m talkin’ to you rappers
Bounce in the ‘6-4, throwing up Westside man
Sell another five million albums, yes I am
Fresh like damn, Dre, I did it again
100 thousand on his neck, L.A. above the brim
Inside the Lambo’, throw it up in the coop
You tell me what the Westcoast be without Snoop Dogg and
Chorus:
One blood, one blood, one blood, one blood
Blood, Blood, Blood, Blood, Blood
Blood, Blood, Blood, Blood, Blood
Blood, Blood, Blood, Blood, Blood
One blood, one blood, one blood, one blood
One Blood
Verse 2:
I’m from the west side of the ‘6-4 Impala
Where they say where you from, we don’t ever say «Holla»
Bandana on the right side, tear on the left side
Homies in New York know how to throw up the Westside
Word to Eazy, I’m so ill, believe me
I made room for Jeezy, but the rest of you rappers
Better be glad you —, all I need is one reason
I’m the king and Dre said it, the Westcoast need me
I don’t know why you keep on tryin’ me
Everybody know that I’m the heir to the Aftermath dynasty
And I ain’t gotta make hits for the club
What DJ gon’ turn down some groupie love
You 38 and you still rappin’, Ugh
I’m 26 homie, so is the dubs
In the ’07 Hummer, hop out, nobody dodge
When after the smoke clear, all you gon’ hear is
Chorus
Verse 3:
You got a beef with me, if you beefin’ with Dre
What’s beef us low-riding in the ‘6-Tre
And the double Game chains, 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 better do like they do if you need radio-play
Keep on snapping your fingers, I ain’t goin’ away
I don’t regret what I spit cuz I know what I say
And I hear ’em talkin’ ’bout me, they don’t know when to stop
I got the Louis Vuitton beltbuckle holdin’ the lock
No —, no —, I know when to —
Wait ’til Lil’ Jon come on and let off a —
I had the number 1 Billboard spot
Till they stepped on my fingers and I climbed right back to the top
I’m B.I.G., I’m Cube, I’m Nas, I’m Pac
This ain’t a single. it’s a warning until my album drops
Chorus