| G’d up, we’re back, that’s what i keep hearing |
| We ain’t never went nowhere fool (what?) |
| Better ask your folks about the d-o-double g’s |
| How long could the war last on a warpath? |
| We’re still heat nigga, still signing autographs |
| Still hitting the stash, and pulling pistols out to dash |
| The poetical poltergeist, verbal jerry weiss |
| Fuck the ice, give me a mic and let’s see who’s the nicest |
| I fuck around and call it crisis |
| With preciseness, and precisely this |
| See we make the shit that precisely hits. |
| So how soon could you pump up the volume |
| Hand you your ends and pump up my album |
| Get yours, i call the fucking holocaust |
| I’m out to get mine, get yours, snatching anything yours |
| Cocking back your name, blasting anything |
| Yo, tha dogg pound gang, where all the g’s hang |
| It’s impossible not for that ass to end up in a hospital |
| G-r, gang related, and we are |
| We are (fresh) |
| I spit poison, poisonous darts |
| I aim, bomb and charge |
| One rhyme will hold your pose and stop your heart |
| Stop to talk, start to walk, and never walk again |
| Legs broken, just played loc, zoning broke and crushed |
| Touched, bust open, get hit like the four winds |
| Up against four assassins, the four horsemen of rapping |
| I gotta pinch my self to make sure i ain’t dreaming |
| 'cause i just saw the homie bring an m-16 in (booya!) |
| I fade in to see how baby sparks |
| No ifs, ands or maybe’s, baby barks |
| Turn on the daylight, pitch black thoughts |
| I pitch back sparks when the get back starts |
| This is it, we’re 'bout to show you how to do shit |
| Dpg completely, running through shit |
| We are (fresh) |
| Break it down |
| Party people clap your hands, keep rocking |
| Sho' shocking and rocking, dj c-walking (kick that shit) |
| Party people clap your hands now (sing that shit) |
| Party people clap your hands (yeah) |
| Party people clap your hands, keep rocking (huh) |
| Sho' shocking and rocking, dj c-walking (bitch) |
| Party people clap your hands now (sing that shit) |
| Party people clap your hands (put your hands in the air, niggaz, come on, |
| Come on, sing it) |
| It’s just a gangsta party |
| Supa dupa, said you was seductive, psycho psychotic, psycho somatic |
| Psycho’s with automatics, the aftermath with the poetical psychopath |
| And i might go slow, and i might go fast, and i might go burst |
| Then i might go last, thinking i might not bust |
| And i just might just blast |
| Or i might just whoop the skin of your ass, if you cross or pass |
| You know i’m the rawest mc with it |
| Fuck jiggy nigga, i’m dp with it |
| I’ve been the bombstrike, like the motherfucking pentagon |
| Napalm verses disperses to all the mental gone |
| Mack 10-ing dunn, separate and lick a mind |
| Tear them in the zone in his leg, ain’t bust his head |
| Keep busting till he’s dead |
| D-a-z with the bombest in the country, taking lead on the street |
| What you got, flame or some heat? |
| Do you incinerate, or make it hot, he got (??) |
| Powerful, strong or weak? |
| All i know is i drop shit that cracks the concrete, and… |
| (fresh) we are |
| Dogg pound, d-a-z, snoop dogg, kurupt, nate dogg |
| Snoop dogg, dogg pound, d-a-z, kurupt, nate dogg |
| Soopafly, tray deee, big c style |
| The homies, anybody, we are o.g.'s, baby g’s |
| D-a-z, he made the beat, 'cause we are… |
| Dogg pound, dp, death row, yeah, you know it, yeah |
| You know it, 'cause we are icons |