Gang Bang Anyway - The Game feat. Jay Rock & ScHoolboy Q

[Verse 1: ScHoolboy Q]
Um, yeah palms sweating guess it's time for the murder
My nigga my nerve, I swerve left you dead on the curb
Tell his family get them black clothes
Any witness gets a 9 cold, could do this with a blindfold
I'm that player on the corner looking dry when it rains
Pimp a dollar out a pussy, I ain't trying to change
Far from average, I'm smoking this cabbage
Bottled teeth, joint karats, say cheese, make the cops freeze
Big cribs, four bars, living pipe dreams
You only gangsta through your bop screen
Might set the reason for the crime scene
Fill up the city with madness
We the reason the hearses left your hood and holding up traffic
Let the riddles do the scrapping, keep the gun in my fabric
Better pistol than them badges, you get dealt with the maggots
Heard drive-bys everyday
Seen homies die early age, though we still gang bang anyway
Uh, yeah, Figg side

[Hook: ScHoolboy Q]
Though we still gang bang anyway, uh
Though we still gang bang anyway, uh
Though we still gang bang anyway, uh
Though we still gang bang anyway

[Verse 2: Jay Rock]
B's and them H's, tats on faces, Glocks with extendos
Chucking up the hood then throw like 80 out that window
The chopper make you limbo
Gotta keep them antennas up, moving down Central
Young niggas with skinnies, moving with them semis
Catch your ass leaving the club, murk you at Denny’s
Squeeze till it’s empty, it seems so unreal
'Til the gunfire got you using tables as a shield
East side, west side, niggas getting chastised
Dropping like fruit flies, we all know who die
We all go on Insta and get the whole rundown
A 15 second clip until he put the gun down
Know OG’s who took more shots like diabetics
Had that MAC paint on your face like cosmetics
Chucking up big ass B’s is my fetish
Type of shit that make you go brazy if I let it
Niggas got zippers, wheelchairs and prosthetics

[Hook: ScHoolboy Q]
Though we still gang bang anyway, uh
Though we still gang bang anyway, uh
Though we still gang bang anyway, uh
Though we still gang bang anyway

[Verse 3: The Game]
Hundred days, hundred nights, nigga
Let the K scream 'til we see the red and blue lights, nigga
From the Hoovers to the Hundreds, nigga
From Kelly Park to Bounty Hunters, nigga
(Watch out for the shooters)
Same age as the kids in Iraq now
LA Chiraq now, funerals is packed now
Preachers at the pulpit, Jesus is the background
Grandmother get shot walking out the church
How that sound?
Niggas don't really like it but we grew up in it
City of angels, belly of the beast get chewed up in it
Started as Black Panthers, everything power, everything pro black
Started off unified the FBI know that
A little coke sprinkled on tables but wasn't no crack
False imprisonment, Huey P, Geronimo Pratt
Now close your eyes, listen to me, your mind'll go back
Picture us chained together under the boat, that's a Kodak
And since today is Thursday, let me hit you with a throwback
Stolen identities, God left us here without lowjack
Forced to find ourselves, forced to break up outta chains
Got tired of getting hanged so we started our own gangs
Tookie Williams (Crip), Sylvester Scott (Blood)
Seventy two Lil' Country caught a slug
And that was the first time a crip ever killed a blood
Now the shit is worldwide cause it is what it was
We know the history and we know the shit could end any day

[Hook: ScHoolboy Q]
Though we still gang bang anyway, uh
Though we still gang bang anyway, uh
Crips, primarily African American gang
Though we still gang bang anyway, uh
Founded in Los Angeles, California 1969
By Raymond Washington and Stanley Williams
Though we still gang bang anyway
Today there's over a million Crip members worldwide
Associated with the blue bandana
Bloods, also primarily African American
Street gang founded in Los Angeles county city known as Compton
By Sylvester Scott and Benson Owens
A mission he formed to provide members protection from the Crips
Today there's over 5 million Bloods worldwide
The government still can't contain us
And our fate was sealed forever
When 17 year old LA brim Frederick "Lil Country" Garrett
Was murdered by west side Crips on June fifth 1972

[Skit]
Crip 1: Hey man ain't that Lil Country over there cuz?
Crip 2: If it is, his ass gon' be laying in a blood river
Crip 1: Hey man, make a u-turn and pull up on him real slow
Crip 2: Alright cuz
Crip 1: What's happening Fred?
Shotgun pump and gunshot
Woman: Frederick, oh my god, oh my god Frederick no, no
Gasping for air
Woman: Please, oh my God
Somebody help me
Y'all just gonna fucking stand there? Call the police
Somebody help me, please
Ok stay with me