And why do we call ourselves...
... niggas for life? 'Cause if we die we're still goan be some dead niggas.
A hundred miles and runnin'. MC Ren, I hold the gun and you want me to kill a motherfucker and it's done in. Since I'm stereotyped to kill and destruct, it's one of the main reasons I don't give a fuck. Chances are usually not good, gettin' frisked with my hands on a hot hood. Gettin' jacked by the you-know-who. When in a black and white the capacity is two. We're not alone, we're three more brothers, I mean street-brothers. Not wearin' my dyes, 'cause I'm not stupid, motherfuckers. They're out to take our heads for what we said in the past, point blank: they can kiss my black ass. I didn't stutter when I said fuck the police, 'cause it's hard for a nigga to get peace. Now it's broken and can't be fixed, 'cause police and little black niggers don't mix, so, now I'm creepin' through the fog. Runnin' like a team, well, see, I might have slayed y'all. So for now pack the gun and hold it in the air, 'cause MC Ren has a hundred miles of runnin'...
Runnin’ with my brothers, headed for the homebase. With a steady pace on the face that just we raced. The road ahead goes on and on. The shit is gettin’ longer than the mutherfuckin’ marathon. Runnin’ on but never runnin’ out. Stayin’ wired and if I get tired, I can still try out.
Hitchhikin’ if that’s what it gotta do. But nobody’s pickin’ up a nigga witta attitude. Confused... Yo, but Dre’s a nigga with nuthin’ to lose. One of the few who’s been accused and abused of the crime of poisonin’ young minds. But you don’t know shit til you been in my shoes. And Dre is back from the c-p-t. Droppin’ some shit that’s d-o-p-e. So fuck the p-o-l-i-c-e! And any mutherfucker that disagrees.
Stuck and runnin’ hard, hauling ass. ’cause I’m a nigga known for havin’ a notorious past. My mind was slick - my temper was too quick. Now the FBI’s all over my dick.