Verse 1]
Pull the rag off the six-fo',
Hit the switch, show niggas how the shit go,
The Game is back, the Aftermath chain is gone,
The D's is chrome, the frame is black.
(So watch it lift up)
Till the motherfucker bounce and break,
And knock both of the screws out the licence plate.
Let the games begin,
These other rap niggas so far behind me, go taste my rims,
Shit, let the chronic burn as the datens spin.
It ain't been this much drama since I first heard Eminem,
In the club, poppin' X pills like M & Ms,
Call it Dre day, we celebratin', bitch bring a friend.
Bottles on me, tell the waiter to order another round,
And put that cheap-ass hypnotic down.
(Put your 'cris up!)
If you feel the same way,
Who got 'em hittin' switches NY to LA


Hook]
(If I could fit the whole hood in the club)
Hop in the low-rider, long as you got bitches in the back,
(I turn it into a strip-club)
Call it a lap-dance, when the six-fo' bounce that ass,
(If I could fit the whole world in the club)
Tell the DJ to bang my shit, the west-coast in this bitch
(Pop bottles and twist up)
Roll up chronic and hash,
In a blunt, call it Aftermath


Verse 2]
Somebody tell me where the drinks at,
Where the bitches at,
You fucking on the first night, meet me in the back.
I got a pound of chronic, and a gang of freaks,
Move bitch! Who the fuck you think they came to see?
The protég