"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 ass, bitch
  [1] [2] Niggaz love to point the finga
  Boom boom boom on your black ass, bitch
  [1] [2]
    [2Pac]
  I thought I hit rock bottom, they ban my album, point the finga
  I guess nobody loves a real nigga-slash-rap singer
  I thought I'd bring a little truth to the young troops
  I brought proof that the niggaz 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 motherfuckers 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 bitch, some officers are gettin rich
  Whoopin on thugs and robbin drug dealers for they shit
  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 niggaz 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 ass 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 motherfuckers beef, and point the finga
  
  [Chorus: repeat 4X]
    Boom boom boom on your black ass, bitch
  [1] [2]
    [2Pac]
  As I run up on em madman, a nutcase with a screw loose
  A zoot troupe full of foolies with toolies
  Niggaz run to me don't come to me with beef
  Take your jewels and your jeep, boom boom! Let that ass sleep
  It's gettin hectic, niggaz run, quick
  Buckshots are the payback for dumb shit
  All you niggaz 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, motherfucker, don't stutter
  Point blank by a nigga 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 shit
  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 motherfuckers 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 motherfuckers kill me
  Pick it up, pick it up, give it up
  Best to duck or get fucked for your bucks
  Scream one two three, peace to the real G's
  Still me, til these motherfuckers 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)
  Bitches, 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 motherfuckers kill me
  I guess nobody loves a rap singer
  That's why these motherfuckers.. (hahaha!) point the finga
  
  [Chorus]
    [Chorus]
    [Chorus 3/4]