[Chorus x2]

Somethin bout the goldie in me

Somethin bout an oakland mack

When I hear this song

It makes an o.g. feel phat



[Verse 1; Hammer]

Somethin bout the goldie in me

That makes me laugh at these wannabes

Cause they been watchin too much tv

Rambo and clint eastwood got ya trippin

But the goldie in me, Keeps me thinkin bout my group and never slippin

In that played out tread, Cause most o.g.'s are in the pen or fresh out

And when I hear rappers like you call me wack

I laugh and just say over twenty million sold, Can you buy that?

Yeah, Fake rappers are surreal

You don't hear me though, I thought ya knew

I'm a certified player, You see

Cause of the girls, The girls, They love me

And no matter what my critics say

They all know that I'm mackin this fame

Cause fools can't recognize game

I refuse to be a wannabe

Somethin bout the goldie in me, Yeah



[Chorus x2]



[Verse 2; Hammer]

Somethin bout the goldie in me, See I'm a g

Hangin wit fools like Big loose, Crossecuse, And killa week

Just some hard knunkleheads from the eastside

Where we used to squab, Shoot em down, Collect ends, And high side and rise

And get between thighs on the day to day

Craps, Big bank take little bank, Were games we like to play

Rollin down east 14, The brothers be trippin, They hear the cats be slippin

Cause the moves be quick to zippin

Pickin up freaks every other block, Wherever the ride stop

The girls flock, And all the homies jock, Sock

Bustas makin smart remarks, I'm quick to bust ya

Never worry about my back, Because I'm rollin wit some hustlas

And we don't sell, We bail

Creep through the hood wit pockets fatter than the goodyear blimp

Yeah, An oaktown player, G

It's got to be the goldie in me



[Chorus x2]