Lyrics: Game. The Documentary. Documentary.

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 fuckin' 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
Fuck 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 documentary

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 documentary, documentary

If I die my niggas, fuck it, I did a song with Mary Blige
My niggas 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 fuckin' with me nigga 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, fuck 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 nigga from Compton you'll ever hear
The first nigga 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 shit
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 documentary

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 documentary, documentary