Rub, rub, rubby-doo-day Rum-pum-pum a-rum-pum-pum-pum Ooh yeah Dready got a job to do And he's got to fulfill that mission To see his hurt is their greatest ambition, yeah But-a we will survive in this world of competition 'Cause no matter what they do Natty keep on comin' through And no matter what they say-ay-ay-ay Natty de deh every day. yeah Natty Dread rides again Through the mystics of tomorrow Natty Dread rides again Have no fear, have no sorrow, yeah All and all you see but one Is to fight against Rastaman So they build their world in great confusion To force on us the devil's illusion But the stone that the builder refuse Shall be the head cornerstone And no matter what game they play Eh, we got something they could never take away We got something they could never take away And it's the fire (fire), it's the fire (fire) That's burning down everything Feel that fire (fire), the fire (fire) Only the birds have their wings, yeah No time to be deceived Oh, brothers, you should know and not believe Jah say this judgement - it could never be with water No water could put out this fire (fire) This fire (fire), this fire (fire) This fire (fire), a yaga y'all! Ride, Natty, ride! Go deh, Dready, go deh 'Cause now the fire is out of control Panic in the city, wicked weeping for their gold Everywhere this fiyah is burning Destroying and melting their gold Destroying and waisting their souls Go ride, Natty, ride! Go deh, Dready! Go deh! Tell you what: now the people gather on the beach And the leader try to make a speech But the Dreadies understandin' that it's too late Fire is burning Man, pull your own weight Fiyah is burning Man, pull your own weight Natty Dread rides again (Natty Dread rides again) And me say, Go deh, Dready! Go deh! (go deh, go deh) Oh ride, Natty, ride! (Dread rides again) And go deh, Dready! (Go deh, go deh) Ridin' through the storm Riding through the calm (go deh, go deh) Oh ride, Natty, ride Go deh, Dready, go deh Ride, Natty, ride Go deh, Dready, do deh

Pull the rag off the six-fo' Hit the switch, show niggas how the shit go The Game is back, the Aftermath chain is gone The D's is chrome, the frame is black (So watch it lift up) 'Til the motherfucker bounce and break And knock both of the screws out the licence plate Let the games begin These other rap niggas so far behind they can taste my rims Shit, let the chronic burn as the Daytons spin It ain't been this much drama since I first heard Eminem In the club, poppin' X pills like M&Ms Call it Dre day, we celebratin', bitch bring a friend Bottles on me, tell the waiter to order another round And put that cheap-ass hypnotic down (Put your 'cris up!) If you feel the same way Who got 'em hittin' switches NY to LA (If I could fit the whole hood in the club) Hop in the low-rider, long as it got bitches in the back (I turn it into a strip-club) Call it a lap-dance, when the six-fo' bounce that ass (If I could sit the whole world in the club) Tell the DJ to bang my shit, the West Coast in this bitch (Pop bottles and twist up) Roll up chronic and hash In a blunt, call it Aftermath Somebody tell me where the drinks at Where the bitches at You fucking on the first night, meet me in the back I got a pound of chronic, and a gang of freaks Move bitch! Who the fuck you think they came to see? The protégé of the D-R-E You take a picture with him, and you gotta fuck me And you gotta fuck Busta, can't touch Eve Got something in my waist that you can't touch either That's, my gangsta bitch, and like Crips and Bloods I'm in the club on some gangsta shit (So nigga twist up) Light another dub Bitches get scared when niggas start fighting in the club Ain't nothing but a g-thing, baby it's a g-thing Bounce like you got hydraulics in your g-string I fuck a different bitch seven days a week Hit the switch, watch it bounce like a Scott Storch beat (If I could fit the whole hood in the club) Hop in the low-rider, long as it got bitches in the back (I turn it into a strip-club) Call it a lap-dance, when the six-fo' bounce that ass (If I could sit the whole world in the club) Tell the DJ to bang my shit, the West Coast in this bitch (Pop bottles and twist up) Roll up chronic and hash In a blunt, call it Aftermath Niggas thought I wasn't coming back, look at me now Hoppin' out the same Cherry six-fo' with the motherfucking top down I'm The Game, nigga Call your bitch, she ain't home, she with Game, nigga Remember that, Dre You passed me the torch I lit the chronic with it, now the world is my ashtray Ridin' three-wheel motion 'til the ass scrapes Turn sunset into a motherfucking drag-race Now watch it bounce Hit the switch, let it bounce 'til the police shut the shit down (When you hit the club) Tell 'em you came with me (We gonna twist up) In the V.I.P It's a new day, and if you ever knew Dre Motherfucker, you would say I was the new Dre Same Impala, different spokes Same chronic, just a different smoke (If I could fit the whole hood in the club) Hop in the low-rider, long as it got bitches in the back (I turn it into a strip-club) Call it a lap-dance, when the six-fo' bounce that ass (If I could sit the whole world in the club) Tell the DJ to bang my shit, the West Coast in this bitch (Pop bottles and twist up) Roll up chronic and hash In a blunt, call it Aftermath

I hate when, I hate when people say they feel me man I hate that shit It'll be a long time for y'all feel me, if ever For real You won't feel me 'til everybody says they love you but it's not love And you're suit is ox blood and the girl you fucking hate you And your friends fading all shots of What you ordered to forget about the game that you on top of Your famous girlfriend ass keep getting thicker than a plot does And when you forget her that's when she pop up And you got a drop but you ride around with the top up Or get three SUVs for niggas dressed like refugees And deal with the questions about all your excessive needs And you do dinners at French Laundry in Napa Valley Scallops and glasses of Dolce, that shit right up your alley Yeah, you see a girl and you ask about her Bitches smiling at you, it must be happy hour They put the cloth across your lap soon as you sat down It's feeling like you own every place you choose to be at now Walking through airport security with your hat down Instead of getting a pat down, they just keep on Saying that they feel you, nigga Yeah, it's been too long Been way too long I'm still, faded too long, ooh I'm still, I've been faded too long, ooh I'm still, I've been faded too long, ooh Why won't it stop? The ride Why won't it stop? The ride You won't feel me 'til you want it so bad you tell yourself you're in it And tell the world around you that your paperwork is finished And steal your mother's debit cards so you maintain an image And ride around in overpriced rental cars that ain't tinted You need a minute? You got it You know it's real when you're latest nights is your greatest nights The sun is up when you get home that's just the way in life Apartment 1503, some couches and paintings When you record with two others that want the same things Yeah, it's starting to feel better than home feels And so you up there every night, you swear you getting close That champagne money was for gas and phone bills But shit, you 'bout to spend it on what matters most You drop a couple songs and hopes that you could beat a nigga And come out every night to let the city see they nigga Telling stories that nobody relate to And even though they hate you They just keep on telling you they feel you, nigga Yeah, it's been too long, man I'm still, I've been faded too long, ooh I'm still, I've been faded too long, ooh I'm still, I've been faded too long, ooh Why won't it stop? The ride Why won't it stop? The ride I haven't been inside Terminal One and Three in so long I'm driving right up to it now make sure you got your coat on That runway can be cold especially after summer's rolled on And all you knew is alcohol and city lights and slow songs For four months out the year, it's got you asking what's good at home What's good at home? The same hoes are still at it I should've known My young niggas poppin' M's and sipping dirty Jones Problem children that all be reppin' Octobers own Brand new girl, and she still growing Brand new titties, stitches still showing Yeah, and she just praying that it heals good I'm 'bout to fuck and I'm just praying that it feels good I really don't know much but, shit, I know a secret They say more money more problems, my niggas don't believe it I mean, sure, there's some bills and taxes I'm still evading But I blew six million on myself and I feel amazing Young money maker, season ticket holder Season switching over I come through them bitches Still scorching as if I didn't notice You niggas getting older I see no threat in Yoda I'm out here messing over the lives of these niggas That couldn't fuck with my freshman floater Look at that fuckin' chip on your nephew's shoulder My sophomore, I was all for it, they all saw it My junior and senior would only get meaner Take care, nigga I'm still, faded, faded, faded I'm still, faded, faded, faded Why won't it stop? The ride Why won't it stop? The ride Why won't it stop? The ride