(Bm)One, two, (F#m7)three and to the four, Snoop Dog gy Dogg and Doc tor (Bm)Dre is at the door.

Read y to make an en trance, so (F#m7)back on up ’cause you know we’re ’bout to rip shit up.

Give me the mi cro phone first so I can bust like a (F#m7)bub ble, Comp ton and Long Beach to geth er, now you (Bm)know you’re in trou ble.

Ain’t noth in’ but a G thang, (F#m7)ba by, two loc’ed out nig gas so we’re (Bm)cra zy.

Death Row is the la bel that (F#m7)pays me, un fad a ble, so please don’t try to fade this.

But, uh,

It’s like this and like (F#m7)that and like this and uh.

It’s like that and like (Bm)this and like that and uh.

It’s like this and like (F#m7)that and like this and uh.

Dre, creep to the (Bm)mic like a phan tom.

It’s like this and like that and like (F#m7)this and uh.

It’s like this and like that and like (Bm)this and uh.

It’s like this, and who gives a fuck (F#m7)a bout those?

So just chill ’til the next e pi sode.

Like this, that and (F#m7)this and uh.

It’s like this and like that and like (Bm)this and uh.

It’s like this, and who gives a fuck (F#m7)a bout those?

So just chill ’til the next e pi sode.