I'm from the old hood, somethin' like yo' hood
Where niggaz don't know good
Or know Suge, but the blow good
So we rock it like Tracy McGrady
Send it to Houston in a gray Mercedes
I'm a product of my environment, grew up in the '80s
So that mean, me, Kanyeezy and Jeezy, all crack babies
And it's evident my flow is heaven sent
First LP on the same shelf as the veterans
Nigga, I can't be fucked, like a lesbian
I'm to hip hop what Cartoon is to Mexicans
I'm a artist, never claimed to be the hardest
Just number one since B.I.G. and 'Pac departed
Nate ridin' with me, Snoop ridin' with me
All you other niggaz used to be good like Ken Griffey
I'm on fire like the tip of a blunt
On fire like a nigga that let it drip for a month
I'm a Blood, you can Crip if you want, just let it bump
Like you got Scott Storch tied up in the trunk
I'm the ice cream truck man, guns in the trunk man
Drugs in the trunk man, call me the front man
Too much Cris' in the club not to get drunk
Too many bitches in the world not to fuck
Too much chronic in the studio not to roll it up
And too much bass in the trunk, so let it bump
You look like you mad as fuck but who cares?
Grabbin' her by the arm 'cause she stare
Don't know how much attention you pay
You better be ready to die in this game
I thought I told y'all I'm done with the beef, clown
My son three now
And I've been watchin' Dre so long, I'm makin' beats now
Game on the rebound like Ben Wallace in the D-Town
I mean Chi-Town, fuck it, it can go down
Nigga, I spit the whole round, fo' plus fo' pounds
Nigga, this the Wild Wild West, call it a showdown
And I'm Billy the Kid 'til they split my wig
I come back from the dead, tell 'em kill me again
Put my head on the barrel, dare a nigga to shoot me
I'm gangsta, took more shots than Tookie
I'm alive, so I'ma take a Patron shot for Tookie
Roll a California blunt and keep watchin' the movie
Inspired by this gangbangin' shit since I was two
I brought the West Coast back, what the fuck you do?
I'm the ice cream truck man, guns in the trunk man
Drugs in the trunk man, call me the front man
Too much Cris' in the club not to get drunk
Too many bitches in the world not to fuck
Too much chronic in the studio not to roll it up
And too much bass in the trunk, so let it bump
You look like you mad as fuck but who cares?
Grabbin' her by the arm 'cause she stare
Don't know how much attention you pay
You better be ready to die in this game
Drive fast, both hands on the dash
Close both of your eyes and hope that you don't crash
It's lyrical homicide, both airbags out
Roll the fuckin' windows down, let the bass out
Niggaz, drop the top on whatever in
Bitches, let your ponytail blow in the wind
Inhale the chronic, blow out dollar signs
Nigga, you could drive a Bentley if only in your mind
Four doors, leather and wood
Ride like I got a horse stable under my hood
And I keep a chrome 4 5 under my hood
So if I die, nigga, bury me under my hood
Who had the hottest bitch in the game, wearin' they chain?
Mr. H to the Izzo, Nas and Hurricane
Long as my family straight, read this at my wake
I gave 'em 'The Documentary' and they scraped the plate
Twenty magazine covers, nigga, look at his fate
I cannot, will not ever be replaced
'Coz I'm the ice cream truck man, guns in the trunk man
Drugs in the trunk man, call me the front man
Too much Cris' in the club not to get drunk
Too many bitches in the world not to fuck
Too much chronic in the studio not to roll it up
And too much bass in the trunk, so let it bump
You look like you mad as fuck but who cares?
Grabbin' her by the arm 'cause she stare
Don't know how much attention you pay
You better be ready to die in this game
He wolfin' a lot of shit, he look scared
You can't find your girl, she right here
I'm not a bad dream, I'm a nightmare
'Sides there's way too many hoes in here
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