"You could get the finger.. the middle!" [1]
"Come and get some!" [2]


[2Pac]
Ahh yeah, they love to point the finger
[1] [2]


Boom boom boom on your black $$#, (*##$
[1] [2] ^!$$%z love to point the finga

Boom boom boom on your black $$#, (*##$
[1] [2]


[2Pac]
I thought I hit rock bottom, they ban my album, point the finga
I guess nobody loves a real ^!$$%-slash-rap singer

I thought I'd bring a little truth to the young troops
I brought proof that the ^!$$%z need guns too
It's not to be a racist, but let's face this:

wouldn't you if we could trade places?
I got lynched by some crooked cops, and to this day
them same mother$#&@ers on the beat gettin major paid

But when I get my check they takin tax out
So, we payin for these pigs to knock the blacks out
Ain't that a (*##$, some officers are gettin rich

Whoopin on thugs and robbin drug dealers for they %#@!
As far as jealousy, bein a celebrity
No matter who committed the crime, they all yell at me

And the media is greedier than most
You could sell em your soul or they'll be on ya til a ^!$$%z ghost
And everyday I read the paper there's another lie

They show my picture for the crimes of another guy
Now how's that for the life of a big shot
A dead cop, a law suit, a little kid shot

I play them nuttin $$# marks in the park
for tryin to earn they stripes in the dark
Just cause I come there, don't mean I from there, peep:

only jealous mother$#&@ers beef, and point the finga

[Chorus: repeat 4X]


Boom boom boom on your black $$#, (*##$
[1] [2]


[2Pac]
As I run up on em madman, a nutcase with a screw loose

A zoot troupe full of foolies with toolies
^!$$%z run to me don't come to me with beef
Take your jewels and your jeep, boom boom! Let that $$# sleep

It's gettin hectic, ^!$$%z run, quick
Buckshots are the payback for dumb %#@!
All you ^!$$%z on the block tryin to test me

Best wear a vest or get open like, sesame
I'll run up on you mad deep; while you're tryin to sleep
I'm steady pumpin bullets in your sheets

Wake up, mother$#&@er, don't stutter
Point blank by a ^!$$% from the gutter, yeah!
Gimme mine, gimme mine, gimme, mine

Ban my rhymes, now I'm back to bustin, nines
And bustaz can't get none, hell no
A quick flurry and he's buried with a swelled jaw

I came up from the amateurs to pro hits
at 5-0, so you know I take no %#@!
And everybody wants to kill a bringer

of bad news, so they choose, to point the finga

[Chorus]


[2Pac]
One two three, peace to the real G's

Still me, til these mother$#&@ers kill me
I bring skills and I build, kill at will
Smoke sess til I'm ill, still feel me?

I say one two three, peace to the real G's
Still me, til these mother$#&@ers kill me
Pick it up, pick it up, give it up

Best to duck or get $#&@ed for your bucks
Scream one two three, peace to the real G's
Still me, til these mother$#&@ers kill me
I can't give up, it's a black thang
And I ain't goin back to the crack game

(You can do it son; be a man and stand up or run)
(*##$es, let em point the finga
(You can do it son; be a man and stand up or run)
Snitches, let em point the finga
Yo, one two three, peace to the real G's

Still me, til these mother$#&@ers kill me
I guess nobody loves a rap singer
That's why these mother$#&@ers.. (hahaha!) point the finga

[Chorus]


[Chorus]

[Chorus 3/4]