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    Artist: Dr. Dre f/ Where


    As the world keeps turning, chronic keeps burning
    (This ain't no) street sermon, these niggas are determined

    Verse 1:Where

    I flow like CD's in the deck
    Moosh fools in the face that lack respect
    Protect ya arm, pitch from the funk
    I deodirise the musty, ya rhymes are crusty, you can't bust G
    So leave me alone I'm in the zone
    Walkin the streets on my own, nigga get blown
    Some niggas say that nigga Where is gone
    But I'm low in the cut and gotta microphone
    Are you gone bust or play bones?
    You motherfuckin clone, get off that nigga's style and get'cha own
    It's Miscellane and it's on again
    For the niggas that slept, they shoulda stayed in step
    And kept ya big fuckin mouth shut


    Verse 2:Where

    I woke up with a stomach ache, headache, back ache
    Advil, Tylenol, Peptol, slept so long realised my world is wrong
    My world is gone like disco
    Blowin up Cisco and in my Cammo
    Standin in back of me was my soul
    Thinking of the easiest way to get a bank roll
    Knowledge is urban-able, exhaust manifold
    A tar can of hos to lubricate my system quick
    Shaky bitches off the dick
    Cos she got a vice grip on the flow from my lips
    I'm slow but equipped with the proper tools
    Show me the one talkin shit so I can drop a fool
    I'm out to glow a nigga roll if he think he Mr CREAM
    Come back on the scene and smoke a phillie, G
    I really dream of gettin mine now let me tell you what's silly
    Me, buckin with my team is murder one
    I heard a gun bustin shots (SHOTS!), down the block (BLOCK!)
    I guess a nigga gettin what he got (GOT!)
    Shit is heavy like a medicine ball and broke niggas to smoke niggas
    I'll fuck one for y'all, they made ya last phone call
    To a trick that didn't even care
    Cos she was gettin fucked somewhere, you're stuck in there
    Now you wanna bust, nigga, now you wanna kill, nigga (Nigga)
    Nigga how ya feel? (Nigga)
    You can't try to be real (You can't try to be real)
    Shit is for real


    Verse 3:Where

    I'm cooler than most, but I got the shorter temper
    And I'm cooler than foes that don't know how it goes
    Let's take it back to the first side
    When you was a new jack and jockin my new track
    But you was wrong, didn't know about the big long
    Head-strong, nicknamed Dav from off the school yard
    Witta teenage group I'm turnin loots to tracks
    Me and my niggas like (These tracks are laced with bomb weed and tight
    You wanna know what the hos used to do
    When me and my crew came bustin through
    All sorts of blushins brew
    (A neighbourhood find, a gift too swift, Miscellane is the crew)
    Underground till my brown eyed balls turned blue
    This is for the bitches and niggas that wanna front
    I smoke on, I broke on till I spoke on
    Miscellane packin shows like Farrakhan
    Where is on another level with two niggas that's on the same plateau
    Now that's three times your tightest flow
    And three times ya tightest track, three times your fattest sack
    Three times is clever (BUCK!)

    Chorus x 2


    Thou shalt rest in grief who lay buried in the belt
    Barely included work, leaves bodies scarred and hurt
    To art in hell, where the next man dwells
    The place with stankin pussy and crack rock dwells

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