What happened in hip hop that got Pac and Big shot
The thicks plots, now every rapper claim he let his clique pop
But even myself tote a gun and know to run then get shot
I`ve been there before, now I`m f**kin` with Doc

Gotta do them Calvin Broadus numbers
If not I push rocks anticipatin` my incarceration
Media think I`m fakin` like Mason but when it comes to mase
F**k off, Kelly, I don`t take it in the face

I find out who sprayed it, I`m puttin` you under the pavement
No buddhist, priest, catholic, or baptist pastor can save him
I`m far from religious but I got beliefs
So I put cannary yellow diamonds in my Jesus piece

I came back from the dead without a part of my chest
Layed in a hospital bed on cardiac arrest
I waited for three years while everybody else dropped
Now I understand why Nas did a song with his pops

I`m ready to die without a reasonable doubt
Smoke chronic and hit it doggy style before I go out
Until they sign my death certificate, all eyes on me
I`m still at it, illmatic and that`s the doc**entary

Ready to die without a reasonable doubt
Smoke chronic and hit it doggy style before I go out
Until they sign my death certificate, all eyes on me
I`m still at it, illmatic and that`s the doc**entary, doc**entary

If I die my ni**as, f**k it, I did a song with Mary Blige
My ni**as got a hook from Faith, no verse from Jay
I guess on West Side Story he thought I spit in his face

Told Ed Lover and Money Luv I was talkin` to Ja
With that mayback line it was payback time
Keep f**kin` with me ni**a I`ll put you under me
Take your car and trade it in for eight three hundred C`s

If you cross my T I`ll dot your eyes
You do life in a cementary I`ll do mine with Shyne
Come home sit in the thrown with my legs crossed
And my air force middle finger up, f**k the world

`Cause I`m feelin` like Puff when `Life After Death` hit
Mo` money, mo` problems and I lost my best friend
I`m the second dopest ni**a from Compton you`ll ever hear
The first ni**a only put out albums every seven years

You know what speakin` of Jay that just makes me roll down
Now your song west side story, you got a line that says
"Don`t wear throwbacks or drive, ride in maybacks"
Is that a shot at Jay? Naa, I was talkin` about Ja Rule

Yeah, so, yeah, I got a lot of respect for Jay
You know what I`m sayin`
I never take shots at legends
That`s just somethin` I don`t do

Let me tell you why I do this s**t
I`m a son of a gun, `cause mom`s was a hoover crip
First day I got signed I had to prove I spit
Freestyle with Busta Rhymes son, Duke is sick

The prodigee` of Doc Dre I could finally put the shoes on
Now that the rumors of Rakim and Q gone
They say truth hurts sunk, like quick sand
Don`t stop me in traffic and ask about Hitman

I gotta restore the feelin` it crawled from under the rock
After the dog pound crushed the buildings
I got a family to feed, I`m the middle of middle children
We can talk about a loan after I sell five million

If I tell you I ain`t Game and I don`t know Dre
You gonna do me like X-Zibit and cut half of my face?
I take all the credit for puttin` the west back on the map
If you ain`t feelin` that guess I`m Gorilla Black

I`m ready to die without a reasonable doubt
Smoke chronic and hit it doggy style before I go out
Until they sign my death certificate, all eyes on me
I`m still at it, illmatic and that`s the doc**entary

Ready to die without a reasonable doubt
Smoke chronic and hit it doggy style before I go out
Until they sign my death certificate, all eyes on me
I`m still at it, illmatic and that`s the doc**entary, doc**entary