[Intro: Nas]

Dre, he a Compton-Compton O.G

Nas, he a QB-QB true G

Do the history

[Verse 1: Nas]

Way before The Firm, like back in the day

Nas was the first New York nigga rappin' with Dre

So of course I got a track to bring it back to your face

The one kid that would've been Aftermath that got away

But we still get together, like, every several years

To sprinkle a little bit of Heaven for your ears

Relax, sippin' Cliquot in Rio, stupid fuckers

Low-key, no G's, but it's still Gucci luggage

I love Cape Cod, and watching fly bitches with gray eyes

Wrestle in a tub of KY to get my day by

I like to celebrate – why? 'Cause I can vision

Collages and images–of my lies, with no regret to hate

So every breath I take, is all about the rules

It's hard for you to breathe, like you at high altitude

So crack the Patrón, it's on, heathens

The God's back, hard body, Mr. Jones never leavin'

[Chorus: Marsha Ambrosius]

Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders

Make that cake, cop two five fivers

Pimps and players, platinum diamonds

East to West Coast, we riders

Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders

Make that cake, cop two five fivers

Pimps and players, platinum diamonds

East to West Coastin' O.G

[Bridge: Nas & The Game]

He a Compton-Compton O.G

Mix that with a QB-QB true G, what you got's

A concoction of some different ghetto blocks

West Coast kill the tracks, East Coast gunshots

He a Compton-Compton O.G

Mix that with a QB-QB true G, what you got's

A concoction of some different ghetto blocks

West Coast kill the tracks, East Coast gun— {*shot*}

[Verse 2: The Game]

1995, eleven years from the day

I'm in the record shop, with choices to make

'Illmatic' on the top shelf, 'The Chronic' on the left, homie

Wanna cop both, but only got a 20 on me

So fuck it, I stole both, spent the 20 on a dub sack

Ripped the package off 'Illmatic' and bumped that

For my niggas, it was too complex when Nas rhymed

I was the only Compton nigga with a "New York State of Mind"

Inside the dope house, bottlin' up sherm, bangin' The Firm

Dre was king then, so I waited my turn

Fast forward, now I'm making 'em burn

Ended my peers' careers

Hollered at Nas, a hard lesson was learned

So I reconciled my differences, like he did with Jigga

I stopped beefin' with niggas, ‘cause I'm "Ether" to niggas

Comb the Earth, 'til there's no one left

"If I Ruled The World," I'd summons all you weak rap niggas to death

[Bridge: Nas & The Game]

He a Compton-Compton OG

Mix that with a QB-QB true G, what you got's

A concoction of some different ghetto blocks

West Coast kill the tracks East Coast gunshots (Yeah)

[Verse 3: Nas]

Yo, the Jordans sportin', come off the dice game

With a fortune walkin', you a walking coffin'

The musket, I tucked it

You bluff it, I bust it

You're sideways talking, so I lay often

I wait patient, to duct tape hatin'

Fuck ass niggas, get bucked ass niggas

Pluck ashes of Cuban cigars, you foolin' with Nas

That's my name, and I came with Rugers this time

And if I'm sane, that Soul Plane movie's the bomb

Word to my mom's name tattooed to my arm

You can't revolve me, embalm me, calm me, or harm me

Rob me, or dodge these bullets I'm busting

See, that's malarky you yappin'

I open up the tripod to put the Gatling on, and I start clappin'

Nasty man, from bagging grams and runnin' from cops

To a mill' on the hand, a mill' on the watch, I'm fuckin' with Doc

[Chorus: Marsha Ambrosius]

Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders

Make that cake, cop two five fivers

Pimps and players, platinum diamonds

East to West Coast, we riders

Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders

Make that cake, cop two five fivers

Pimps and players, platinum diamonds

East to West Coastin' O.G