DR. DRE IS DINING AT MONTY'S STEAKHOUSE in the West wood section of L.A. In the distance he spots a car on the freeway billowing smoke from its tailpipe. "That car needs to be Midas-ized," says Dre, taking another forkful of fried lobster tail. In response his publicist pays her client a compliment. "You should know," she says. "You have the Midas touch." "It ain't the Midas touch," says Dre, cracking a smile. "Midas only turned things into gold. I turn them into platinum."

Looking at the numbers, it's hard to argue with this 29-year-old artist-producer. His two most recent albums, The Chronic, his star vehicle, and Doggystyle (which he did not rap on but produced for his protégé, Snoop Doggy Dogg), have sold a combined total of more than 7 million copies, despite their controversial lyrics. Dre's songs, the lyrics of which are written mostly by Snoop (Dre creates the melodies), not only contain offensive language, they also glorify murder, debauchery and getting high. Although their records have been denounced by many as misogynist, The Chronic remained on Billboard's Top 10 for eight months last year, and Doggystyle is still in the Top 20 after five months. In March, Dre, whose real name is Andre Young, copped a Grammy for best rap solo performance, and last month at The Source Awards, he won for producer, solo artist and album of the year.

But while the "G" in Dre's hit "Nuthin' but a 'G' Thang" stands for guy, gangsta, gun, ganja or ghetto, it could also mean guilt-free. "I'm not making up these [profane] words," he explains over a large Hennessy and Coke. "These words were here before I was born." He adds, "We rap about things we know. We like sex, we like smoking weed, and that's what we rap about. If we grew up in Beverly Hills, we'd be rapping about big houses and nose jobs and s—t like that."

Dre is also unfazed by criticism from black leaders such as the Reverend Jesse Jackson, who has attacked rap's liberal use of "nigger" and "bitches." "I could do a record without any profanity," Dre says, "and it would still be just as good, but this is what I choose to do. Jesse is trying to take jobs away from black kids who are trying to do the same music we do. Don't try to take away what's bringing home the bacon." Dre is unrepentant about violence in gangsta rap as well. "We can talk about killing people, but everyone knows we ain't killed no motherf—kers," he says. "I never killed anybody. We take episodes that we've seen and been through and put them into songs."

Dre could find plenty to rap about in the saga of Snoop Doggy Dogg, 22, whose hearing for murder will be in June. Police say that Snoop (real name: Calvin Broadus) was the driver of a car carrying his bodyguard, McKinley Lee, 24, on Aug. 25, 1993, when Lee allegedly shot and killed Philip Woldemarian, believed to be a member of the Venice Shoreline Crips gang, on the street. Snoop's attorney contends that Woldermarian had twice threatened him and that the shooting was in self-defense. Dre says he's "not worried at all" about Snoop's case. "He'll get off," he says. "Me and Snoop don't even think about that s—t."

Dre himself is no stranger to courtrooms. In October 1992 he pleaded guilty to batten' of a police officer during a brawl in New Orleans and served 30 days under house arrest. The following year he settled out of court with Denise Barnes, a former Fox TV talk show host who accused him of assaulting her in a nightclub the year before. Last May, Dre pleaded no contest to breaking the jaw of a record producer during an argument and was again sentenced to house arrest. "I've made some f—kups along the way, but I've paid for them," says Dre. "I'm starling to realize how valuable I am—that it could all go away much faster than it came." Still, that doesn't mean he'll stop carrying a gun. "It's defense," says Dre. "If everybody on the street has one and you don't, you automatically lose the chess match. Checkmate. I'd rather be judged by 12 than carried by six."

Two days later at Larrabee Sound Studios, where Dre and his 15-plus crew, known as the Dogg Pound, dig up their hits, he asks Kurupt, a 21-year-old rapper, to "kick me some rhymes." In the middle of "The Things Niggaz Do," Kurupt lifts his Orlando Magic jersey and pulls out a black gun. Cocking it into the mike to gel the desired sound effect, Kurupt continues the rap, weapon in hand. When he's done, he inserts the clip of bullets back into the gun and sits back to listen to the track.

Not everyone, however, can get as close to Dre as Kurupt. Several non-rapping stars, including Madonna, says Dre, have tried in vain to enlist his services as a producer. "I have no interest in working with Madonna," says the soft-spoken Dre. "I like building an artist and watching him sign his first autograph. That's my kick. New acts don't have egos."

Dre's most-prized discovery, Snoop, a virtuoso from Long Beach, Calif., arrives in his green vintage '64 Chevy Impala. Smoking a spliff of high-octane chronic (street talk for pot) in the back room, he explains his bond to Dre. "He's the bomb," says Snoop. "Got a lotta love. lie scooped me up when I didn't have nothing to do with my life and gave me a chance. It's a dream come true. I'm learning this business so I can lay it down for myself later on. So Dr. Dre is the bomb. End of discussion."

Snoop's mentor was born in Compton, a primarily black, drug-riddled section adjacent to South Central L.A., one of the hardest hit areas during the '92 riots. He was born to a teenage mother; his father moved out when Dre was a little boy. Dre says he didn't miss having a father because he "never knew what it was like to have one." Then, with a smile, he adds, "Only thing I can do is watch the Huxtables [of Cosby fame] and see what it's really like."

As a 4-year-old, Dre delighted in playing deejay at his mother's parties. In 1981, after hearing a song by pioneer rapper Grandmaster Flash, Andre changed his name in honor of basketball star Julius (Dr. J) Erving and decided to become a full-time deejay. He began making rap tapes in his bedroom for his friends and soon found jobs in discos as a mixer.

In the mid-'80s, Dr. Dre joined N.W.A. (Niggaz with Altitude), one of rap's seminal bands, and became the house producer at Ruthless Records, N.W.A.'s label, where he turned out seven platinum albums. After an acrimonious 1991 contract dispute, Dre quit the group and the label and went solo. "I took The Chronic to every company there is, and nobody wanted to f—k with me except Interscope Records [the distributor of his current label, Death Row Records]. One company told me, 'Well, I don't see anybody else knocking down your door.' '

Beyond the iron gates that lead to his French colonial house in an exclusive community in the San Fernando Valley, which he shares with his girlfriend, singer Michel'le, and their 3-year-old son, Marcel, Dre lives in luxury. "I don't know where the f—k I'd be right now if it wasn't for rap," he says. "I wouldn't be as happy as I am. I know that." And what if rap loses its appeal and work becomes scarce? "Then," reasons Dre, "I might have to think about that Madonna thing."