Feels Good Songtext
von Cyssero

East Coast, stand up
West Coast, stand up
Game, you ready?

Straight out the motherfuckin′ pissy hallway in the projects
To parkin' a four-door Bentley on my set
Same hood, same motherfuckin′ steps

I sat on and took the plastic off of Life After Death
Bangin' Bone and Biggie, Biggie, I did a 360
The Aftermath for that is the nigga 50 ain't with me

No hard feelings, we both made millions
You can hate me or love me, but nigga, I spit real shit
Like I′m comatose, tell the doc I′m sick
Before Detox, let me take my last chronic hit
Now I am gangsta rap
Inhaled the weed smoke and coughed up five platinum plaques
So I'ma let the nigga Dr. Dre hit
Next time I have dreams of fuckin′ an R&B bitch
I don't make love, I make hits

I put a condom on and stuck my dick in this hip-hop shit


Feels good
Oh, it′s so, so gangsta
And it's still hood
And always gon′ be gangsta

Straight out the bloody streets near the projects
To parkin' up a big boy Chevy on my set
The bling from my wrist to my neck make they eyes stretch
Small nigga, but my balls bigger than my biceps

Ah yes, so I keep my TEC on my waist
Thirty-two shots if you try to invade my space

And I ain't talkin′ ′bout MySpace
I mean, if you get too close, you gon' talk to the toast, blaow
So be easy, tell ′em to breathe easy
Four cocked, give more shots than speakeasies
Geah, I can get you buried in a hurry, Game
Come tear shit up and then leave, I'm like a hurricane
Hurricane Game, call me Hurricane Sis

It′s gangsta, virus, and hurricane, bitch
Rockin' antique denims and my hurricane kicks
And hip-hop′s my bitch, so I took my condom off
And I went raw in this hip-hop shit, and it, and it


Feels good
Oh, it's so, so gangsta
And it's still hood
And always gon′ be gangsta

I snuck backstage on the Westwood One tour
And then spit for Game for like two hours long
Four Black Wall mixtapes, he named me "rock star"
That explains the war chain when I came back home
I spit shit that make the gangstas
Rock, shit that make the hoes bounce
Can′t afford twenty-five to life, that's the sole count
This exotic three-fifty, you can have the whole ounce
Hemi on Daytons, it got me skatin′ like the roll bounce
Bandanaed up with my damn hammer tucked, and it, and it

Feels good
Gangsta
Still hood
Gangsta