[Verse 1: Tim Dog]
Oh sh*t motherf*ckers step to the rear and cheer
'Cause Tim Dog is here
Let's get down to the nitty gritty
And talk about a bullsh*t city
Talkin' about n*ggas from Compton
They're no comp and they truly ain't stomping
Tim Dog, a black man's task
I'm so bad I'll whip Superman's ass
All you suckers that rif on the West Coast
I'll diss and spray your ass like a roach
You think you're cool with your curls and your shades
I'll roll thick and you'll be yellin' out raid
A hard brother that lives in New York
Where suckers are hard and we don't have to talk
Shut your mouth 'fore we come out stompin'
Hey, yo Eazy!
f*ck Compton!
[Chorus]
f*ck Compton
f*ck Compton (Yeah!)
f*ck Compton (Oh Yeah!)
f*ck 'em
[Verse 2: Tim Dog]
(Why you dissing Eazy?)
'Cause the boy ain't sh*t
Chew him with tobacco, and spit him in sh*t
I'll crush Ice Cube, I'm cool wit Ice-T
But NWA ain't sh*t to me
Dre, beatin' on Dee from "Pump it Up!"?
Step to the Dog and get f*cked up!
I'm simplistic, imperialistic, idealistic
And I'm kicking the ballistics
Having that gang war
We want to know what you're fighting for
Fighting over colors?
All that gang sh*t's for dumb motherf*ckers!
But you go on thinking you're hard
Come to New York and we'll see who gets robbed!
Take your jheri curls, take your black hats
Take your wack lyrics and your bullsh*t tracks
Now you're mad and you're thinking about stomping
Well I'm from the South Bronx; f*ck Compton!
[Chorus]
f*ck Compton
f*ck Compton (Yeah!)
f*ck Compton (Oh Yeah!)
f*ck 'em
[Verse 3: Tim Dog]
Tim Dog and I'm the best from the East
And all this Compton sh*t must cease
So keep your eyes on the prize and
Don't jeopardize my rhyme 'cause that's not wise
You really think that you can rhyme
Well come and get some of this loaded Tec-9
Bo bo bo shots are cold gunning
And you'll really be a hundred miles and running
You wanna play go ride in a sleigh
I'm so large I f*cked Michel'le
In the bathroom we was bonin'
You shoulda heard how the b*tch was moanin'
Do do do do dooo do do do do do do do
Shut the f*ck up b*tch, you can't sing
You sound like a kid playing on a swing ("f*ck you!")
I'm the man at hand to run the band
That's in command
You know who the f*ck I am
Tim Dog, what's my motherf*cking name?
Tim Dog, that's my motherf*cking game
So whether you think that I'm just a myth
That riff, the lift, the gift, the if, the fifth
The shift, the spliff, that's in control, to hold
To fold, to bold and make an ache and take and fake
Wooh! and I'm still too great
f*ck Compton