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| 2. |
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(Chorus: repeat 2X)
Real gangstaz stand up, hold they dick Bitch niggaz sit down to piss, what type of nigga is you? I'm the type to pack a gat or few Pull out and pop, simply cause I'm mad at you (The Game) Y'all niggaz see me when I'm come through; and ain't no denyin that them big motherfuckers is twenty-five Swayin in and out of white line, six double-oh Deuce zeroes, I'm feelin like the streets is mine Mines hustle, mucho dinero, heat's confined See more fall guys than Foreman/Ali combined If there's beef, I'm releasin mine And I won't stop bustin 'til them Escalade seats recline The kid roll with a greasy nine, come through and blast I return shots like Arthur Ashe You do the math, ten shots, ten dead bodies Fuck bein sorry, it ain't nuttin but a gangsta party And I'll make sure ain't a nigga survivin Shoot up the ambulance, make sure it ain't a nigga there to revive him And the Game ain't tryin to win, fuck the awards So keep that little-ass horn, and that Neil Armstrong nigga (Chorus) (The Game) Trust me dog, ain't shit you can put in your rap that'll make you a gangsta, you a bitch and that's that Niggaz thinkin I retired my Chuck, put the gun back in the holsters Cause I weave through traffic in a roaster But that don't stop the heater from bangin, or me comin through Droppin all y'all niggaz with three in the chamber Keep two mac-10's when I'm rollin, one in the changer One when I push the button's right next to the cupholder Dog we can get this shit over, I got ten on the Game Let's say that Lee Harvey crack ya brain Ain't gotta look over my shoulder, I'm good with the aim Good with the handle and the bullet's good with the bloodstains And the coroner's real good with that pickup A1 good with the carpet cleaning, they can get the rest of that shit up Cause I kill like the hiccups, two at a time Put you niggaz next to each other how I do 'em in line (Chorus) (The Game) Come through in a big boy, leave the bullshit at home If beef cook then I'm bringin the chrome If I die then I'm leavin a clone; but if I live through the drama one mo' time then them boys gotta dig When I think about who shot me, I listen to Big When I'm rhymin on the road, I listen to Jig Bump Nas off that purple, sittin on the block And when I'm loadin up them clips, I listen to 'Pac A semi with me like Eddie Murphy, got mo' guns than F-A, B-O, L-O, U-S got jerseys And you might get 'em all in the face when shit get thick Make the back of your head look like Jerome Kearsey And ain't nuttin to do a driveby in the hood We ain't even got survival, but I'ma still take that ride Bet my drink on it, bet my main squeeze mink on it Think this shit a joke? Bet the S-5 pink on it (Chorus) |
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(feat. Get Low Playaz & Young Noble)
[21 seconds of ad libs to open] [Chorus: repeat 2X] Exclusively, ridin on them deuces G Talkin 'bout what your gameplan used to be They got us choppin up game through the fog and smoke We came a long way but still we got so far to go [Verse One] Yeah I know I got 4 to go, so with these bars I flow At a pace for the papes I thank y'all should know I lace it properly for property, it really ain't no stoppin me And plus I'm tryin to get my money on like Monopoly Politickin economy, if I could be a made nigga Smokin on e'ry nigga, balled out paid nigga Keepin it real, I'm still deep in the field Deep with the skills for the bills I got the million dollar mouthpiece with no gold grill I bring the thrill like Will Clark I will bust I will spark and flame in the booth You blind you shoulda saw it when I came in the booth I serve the thunder, that shit that'll brang in the roof [Verse Two] My niggaz, stack riches, mack bitches Blow fast Swishers with my folks, act vicious with my folks Sav livin with my vo-cals, Outlaw like my nigga No-ble Fuckin bad bitches at the hotel There's nothin to a boss, man we live it up Smash for the cash and respect so when we mash niggaz give it up I got no time for that fake shit Jersey to the Bay niggaz thuggin even bitches thinkin they sick So nigga basically the world is a ghetto Play a nigga out his scratch, he gon' be twirled in a meadow I keep it real with niggaz that be true to me There's nothin you can do to me My crew is deep and real niggaz rule the streets [Chorus] [Verse Three: The Game] Lace your Timbs, polish your gators, we like odds in Vegas You can't ball then it's probably the haters Can't breathe then it's probably the desert, if you a gangster or not I give a fuck dawg, bullets is hot And every nigga gon' cry when he hit The more pain the more blood drain, he ain't survivin shit And your niggaz ain't gon' ride for shit, they know If they came through everybody in the X-5 is hit Red rag or blue rag, niggaz die for this The Game the reason all these niggaz on that "Cali Love" shit Compton niggaz get grimy too, pull you out of that 6 Fuck you up like one time'll do And I dare y'all to stop on the 'Shaw, and King Boulevard Pull it hard, Doogie Howser pullin bullets out your jaw Turn your round trip into a one-way ticket You can visit, but you can not lie and kick it [Verse Four] It's time for me to shine, life on the grind, life on the line Feelin like I'm runnin out of time It's now or never, chasin this cheddar 'til things get better These streets got me hungry as ever Can't stop can't change, young Sav stuck in the game Everyday we gotta hustle and slang, struggle and strain To bubble, weed plus the 'caine to juggle Organize the brains and muscle [Chorus] [Verse Five] You {?} like Sammy did Gotti, told 'em we kamikaze Like those whiteboys ain't heedin the robbery Told 'em we ride around in them cars on them big wheels In the killing field makin 100 bills on the P-700 Pirelli wheels Marshall Faulk in to ball again in this day to day scrimmage 'Bout the spinach this game is relentless where we livin Niggaz'll 32 round ya, kick you on the ground After they down ya, sneak ya and plot ya, Heckler & Koch ya Got ya body bein scrutinized by a flock of doctors Still an unsolved mystery, statistically, history A Get Low nigga victory by fuckin with my credibility |
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(feat. Blue Chip)
(Intro/Chorus - sample) -- Don't cry (5X) don't.. -- Don't cry (5X) don't.. (The Game) Amayah wake up baby I know you're sleepin, but daddy's home now Pictures gettin old, my lil' girl lookin grown now Your moms said you're talkin on your own, walkin on your own now Run across the kitchen floor in them baby drawers I sent you from off tour and I miss you when I was tourin Smilin at them baby pictures, so happy, tears pourin God how can somethin so beautiful come from me? After the gunshots thought you was done with me But I know I'm livin now, why you made me put the guns down Pick up the mic, start rappin for a living now My sun, my moon, my starts, my earth My wind, my fire, my life, my bay-bay Tryin to make your moms life ya must be crazy, fussin and fightin I know she love me cause ya look just like me Day you came into this world I was so excited Eleven twenty-one double-zero, my baby girl is here (Chorus) (Blue Chip) Yo, yo, you see this rap shit I do it for you And the first time I heard your voice I prayed to God it had to be true Got a son now, cuttin the game, stoppin the bullshit Remember eyein your enemy, can you pull quick Dipped out Cali, came back, snatched my son my girl moms and I moved out Maui Yeah your pops gone bananas, seen wild went hard Bigger house, wider yard, nappy with the crash bar Off that hersh', shit you stupid, you ain't no dad nigga Takin your black ass to court for all you have nigga You see me and your moms, that's another topic Ain't no whip in this world with a price you can't cop it Stop it, press rewind, you didn't hear me right It's a lesson to the song, I'm tryin to steer you right Just remember your father taught you to go hard or go home Never sing that sad song, don't cry (Chorus) (The Game) Huh daddy ain't gon' preach to you, I'ma let your moms school you Don't let the streets fool you, streets'll do you, that's why I'm talkin to you (Blue Chip) Yeah, you see these niggaz out here, have you stressin by the hour Never turn your back on your foes, them dudes cowards (The Game) Some days sweet, and some sour - but we gon' make it together The world is ours, and you're my flower (Blue Chip) If it's ice you can get that, model chicks hit that Never stress about the downfalls just 'bout the getback (The Game) And I ain't sayin sex is wrong, just make sure he strap a condom on And never, ever do it in your mother's home (Blue Chip) Yeah, never call a girl a bitch, show respect, son pop ya collar Ain't nothin free, scrape and lock every dollar (The Game) And I will leave you with this, my lil' angel, daddy loves you How I'd die for you, cry for you, ride for you (Blue Chip) Yeah, switchin handles like you breakin a zone, candy paint Impala On the Golden Bridge, bouncin on chrome (Chorus) |
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(The Game)
Yeh this is killa Cali, live as a motherf**ker man Niggaz hoppin of off LAX's Can't wait to see the sunshine, the palm trees, the beautiful woman I love it man, nineteen years and runnin', this is my home, feel me (The Game) Y'all must think it's all chips and championships in LA I got niggaz from San Diego all the way to the Bay E-40, Dre, Tash, Ras Kass Quik, Cube, Kurupt, and Daz Big Snoop, Xzibit, Nate Dogg, and Ren Too $hort, B-Legit, The Click, and Mack 10 Big Solo, Kam, CJ Mack, and WC Jayo Felony, Suge Knight, The Outlawz, and Warren G Knoc'Turnal, Bad Azz, Goldie Loc, and Tray Dee Short Khop, Big Face, MC Eiht, and Shock G Ant Banks, Richie Rich, Eastwood, and Suga Free Bigga Figga, B-Real, Cypress Hill, and Ice-T Rick Rock, C-Bo, Battlecat, and Crooked I Yukmouth, Sean T, Kokane, and Big Wy San Quan, Second II None, and Soopafly King T, Rappin 4-Tay, and All From The I Dru Down, E-Swift, Baco, and Technique Mac Mall, Dazi Bitch, Shaq and D.O.C. Chico and Coolwadda, Tyrese and KD Mailman, RBX, Shade Sheist, and Wy V C & W, Chill, Hittman, and Hi-C DJ Yella, I Flow, The Ganders, and Double D Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E., The Farock, AMG Ra Ra, H.O.P. and Butch Cassidy All my fallen soldiers rest in peace Along wit 2Pac, Mausberg and Eazy-E Essays, Bloods, Crips and all the thugs And all my killa cali niggaz stay given it up uh Yeah if I left you out man holla at me, my bad it's all love |
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(feat. Blue Chip)
(The Game) I'm from Compton where them guns bust, watch Poppa George pop Cats tellin jokes at them car games Seen big face hundreds, handle the rock like Nate Archibald What? This nigga only sixteen And I wanted to be, just like him, middle school fightin Any nigga with a chip on his shoulder, whattup nigga? You want beef with me? Now I let the heat speak for me No more talkin, just outline chalkin Nigga Witta Attitude from birth, "100 Miles and Running" Gunnin bustin shots like fuck the cops Notorious for burnin blocks, weavin in and out of traffic and chop Game the young Robin Hood of the block Steal from the rich, give to the poor, coward niggaz rock Second comin of this black Alfred Hitchcock Kick in the door, wavin the four-four Ten shots to your spleen, let them violins sing (Chorus: Blue Chip + (The Game)) Yo, I'm just a ghetto nigga stuck in this game, young'uns runnin with 'caine Rain hits so we floodin the game When you come to Compton respect the grounds, leave you shook man (And I look good, from Compton to Brooklyn) Hey yo I don't give a fuck who you are, fuck ya ice Fuck the block that you claim, fuck your Bentley Azure (Dead presidents is all I represent) ('Til y'all met me y'all niggaz ain't met gangsta yet) (The Game) Fast cars, money and muscle, the hustle I was brought up in the 80's Gangbangin, dope traffic, shit get crazy From where niggaz grow up hard like dicks raised Them hustlin guns like Knicks players, we got mouths to feed 'Til they put flowers on me, moms kiss my cold cheek In that pine box, I'm buyin rocks, eyein cops Fuck a cell block, the young kid makin it happen Who you think got them fiends runnin back like Bo Jackson? I'm a gangsta, what else could I say? I'm ahead of myself like it's Y4K 2Pac, Scarface, N.W.A. Taught me how to dodge them bullets, keep my wig in play Keep fo' snug in the waist or pay a thousand to have 'em Niggaz in the street move faster than, Michael Jackson's album But the shit don't really matter to me, we get better G Bet the four slow 'em down like PCP (Chorus) (The Game) Real gangsters never talk shit, handle they business Fuck the dry snitchin and bitchin, niggaz die when them bullets fly Who fuckin with him, ha? Not a nigga alive End up dead in that 5 He got no sympathy for them dead guys, friend or foe Watch that chest cave in, what that vest savin? Make it sloppy for the autopsy, leave my enemies in a frenzy On the frontlines holdin a 9 Everyday a new chapter, my own niggaz plottin on me Tryin to hit me but they won't get me, feel the semi first Fuckin with my dough, is the worst way to go Y'all know, niggaz cry when them bullets burn slow dummy In and out of spots watchin my money If one dollar come up missin bodies start to come up missin No one too heavy for the Expedition, piss on your corpse Watch your soul shiver, throw him in the river, bitch nigga (Chorus) |
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(The Game)
You can catch five, or catch me in the CL-5 Whatever way dog, the Game get live Keepin it gangsta in a P.D. city velour Late night I'm in Dublin's and I got myself a four The hood love me, hoodrats gotta hug me Pop ex, spark the buba, the shit get ugly Rock the mic anywhere, and I ain't talkin 'bout a concert dog Talkin 'bout ten niggaz in Converse dog Get it crackin like we out in the yard, and the warden's watchin Only difference is the whores is watchin Still love to see a nigga, roll up on 20's Hop in that six-four, roll up on Bentley's like I'm a gangsta bay-bee, from the C-P-T Run with the (Pound) like I'm from DPG If it's beef, you C-Murder like it ain't No Limit And I represent the P like Russell Simmons (Chorus: repeat 2X) I'm a neighborhood superstar, get it, right Got it? Good, okay It's the Black Sox and Get Low we get dough In the Yay they pimp hoes, in Compton we six-fo' (JT the Bigga Figga) I know ya, love to watch me, 'specially when I'm lookin rocky The trey with the broccoli with my handles on the Kawasaki Handle my jewels with the cuff in my shoes AD jacket on my elbow, 50 coast the jewels In my neighborhood I'm Young Bill Gates, never shuffle the cake So cover my face, and run up in the place I'm a superstar, dick and my chain, glass bezel and bang 80 karats on my pinky and rang Crews buzz when you speakin my name, cause I'm deep in the game With top cool thangs and million dollar planes I'm a maniac, young boy gone, like a young Roy Jones You ought of my zone and ain't nobody home In my neighborhood, produce stars, stakes is high Now we soarin through the spacious skies Drop yo' body with them cakes and ride, the handle is up Switchin gears with the pedal and ride (Chorus) (The Game) I'm a shining star And I gotta hit the boulevard in that new Jaguar Why he move through traffic like that, purple haze Ralways, the Ojays, the gangsta lean so Please believe that I keep two G's in my jeans Two gats in my sleeve, two rats in my Beam' X-5, mami let's ride Weave in and out of traffic from Compton to Bed-Stuy It's the kid from the far West I, oh, shit He know how to do more than flip pies Get money like them stick up guys Them "Ocean 11" licks got the young kid rich for life And I talkin 'bout a movie or George Clooney I'm talkin 'bout, runnin in your spots with uzis tucked in the Coogi Dude me? Naw truly, might lose your lives They say I've, got 2K2 covered like A.I. (Chorus) (JT) Yeah mayne, I told y'all mayne Fillmoe California nigga where we launch the best nigga JT the Bigga Figga, San Quinn, D-Moe the Yungsta, Seff the Gaffla Introducin the Game Nigga the first nigga I went and got outside of the Fillmoe district Y'knahmtalkinbout? Yeah mayne And we gon' pass him on off to Aftermath Records mayne So they can take him to the T-O-P Y'knahmtalkinbout Dr. Dre and the whole Aftermath staff, y'knahmtalkinbout? But this album right here, this a Get Low, JT the Bigga Figga production My nigga Charlie-O on the beat, y'knahmtalkinbout? And we keepin it real thuggish mayne, Bay Area style nigga Black Wall Street, now let's get MONEY! |
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(feat. San Quinn)
(20 second instrumental to open) (San Quinn) Drama is real, like not wakin up I'm breakin up grounds when this patriot thrust Your mouth is on shut, your emotions are hidden For you to handle your business, you are more than driven If you kill it no more standin on that corner like a stop sign Everytime you spotted they call it shot time Not at the gym but in the grim reaper's hands You important if a bullet hits, injure your plans This is not an adventure, but a full-time duty If you seen how niggaz hit the club, they pullin out uzis Sometimes bruisin and grazin, mostly takin No more sleep for the shooter, no more of that hangin No mo' trustin hoes you ain't know fo' ten plus No mo' smokin with the homies, no mo' late night clubs Cause the victim, is ready to stick him like a mousetrap I'm 'bout to rap, you better be 'bout peepin out cash (Chorus: The Game) If there's blood on my Nikes I done murdered a nigga If the stash spot smokin I done murdered a nigga San Quinn got a hurt for the nigga, it get worser for niggaz We take this beef shit further than niggaz Streets are shady, the Game got curtains for niggaz All-of-a-sudden-ass killers never heard of these niggaz Have your whole family cryin a river, we'll murder you niggaz We take this beef shit personal nigga (The Game) I ain't met a nigga yet could fuck with this rap vet I'm the realest since I came in the game on Kam back Rest in peace to Mausberg, gotta live with that Keep the M2 on my hip, I live with that Eat with that, sleep with that, come get me Four-fifty put somethin through your son Easter basket Six in your truck, get you each a casket Put termites in your box let 'em eat your cabbage A wife right here, see if she can weave through traffic Everybody gotta die, when the beef is active If you know Game, you know I'll never give free passes But I give choices, how you want it, metal or plastic Life is real, pedal to traffic, no spots on my tail Cops on the payroll so me and Quinn live well And I can still get a nigga the hill, your bitch as well Shotgun got mo' punks than shells (Chorus) (The Game) See the Escalade got 'em runnin downhill, snowball niggaz We throw vapors out of truck windows, blow our figures Suede corners out the sunroof, the fifth or the Ruger Broad daylight, blow the windows out of your Cougar Move in the S5, plus my, leather dust fly Spark up a dutch, Game put niggaz in a coffin too much Turn niggaz kids into orphans too much, In God We Trust - nah Keep the fifth close like Starsky & Hutch Your daughter cryin it's just {?} tuck, but so what Blow the dutch, southpaw bust out your whole fronts Have you eatin soup for months, broken jaw, lick your shit out of straws I guess I got that same ol' harm I ain't for play, the Game is raw Specialize in death jackets, here try these bullets on And next time have all my cheese cause if you owe me Guns O-U-T, we all gon' squeeze (Chorus) |
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(20 second instrumental to open)
(The Game) Who really the best rapper since 'Pac got killed I done answered that question when I copped my deal Ask yourself when the Game is comin, after next summer I predict my shit'll drop before the next Howard homecoming Now who in the runnin, no one, ask the niggaz who want it I got a four-fifth and it just like me, it stay gunnin Me and my niggaz stay blunted fogged up in the 600 Guilty as charged, blunts in the air, guns in the doors It's written, Compton niggaz never run from the law Plus we get Monopoly money with hotels and a board So I'll never see a jail, and I'm allergic to bars Can't sit behind 'em or drink at 'em, so we travel with ours Poppin Crist' in the 6, like we drivin through Mardi Gras Thinkin 'bout beads and titties as I roll through the city And I keep 16 in the clip, and I let 'em all go like the Lakers did Ellie, Atty and Nick, huh (Chorus) When shit get thick, niggaz start dyin Bodies pop up in dumpsters, mothers start cryin Payback come through violent, nigga We hit blocks, bust shots, leave ya whole block silent, cause When shit get thick, niggaz start dyin Bodies pop up in dumpsters, mothers start cryin Payback come through violent, nigga We hit blocks, bust shots, leave ya whole block silent (Sean T) No garbage we smoke molta, move big cocoa We off the train tracks like the great space coaster We hit real big and consistant like Sam Sosa Prepare for war, like United States soldiers Lock tight and rock right like grey eight oz's I'll be hittin up spots, in them flip Range Rovers Before you even try to play, foolish all over Empty out yo' pockets, turn everything over We ball out cursin yeah we keep it the sickest When we roll by the quads in them Z-66's Big spittin, grip kitten, that big face greed Always dirty never clean but we live like kings Legendary like Sting, it's a history to follow But not known for stingin known for gettin off hollows Shoot me a glass of Remy, nah f**k it the whole bottle And watch me act bad and take off, full throttle (Chorus) (JT the Bigga Figga) I'm from a batch where it ain't no cut, we all in 36 on a triple beam scale for meal Duffle bag on my shoulder my route, through the back of the jet To bag up baguettes and everybody know it I'm the iceholder makin the cut, never breakin 'em up My favorite color is rainbowed up Ain't a coke dealer, but I got bricks for cheap Hit the lab for a fo' day block, we got heat You niggaz can't compete when I walk in the streets We Get Low, and there's no idea with the info It's a rule of thumb, let them dudes a come I'm cruisin some, 20 inch shoes and some I'm in the widebody XM-5, all my snakes is live We check your five, the spot where the tec dies And everybody gotta holla the name It's JT from the Fillmoe streets to CPT |
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Uhh, uhh, gangsta gangsta yeah
Uhh, uhh, it's gangsta gangsta yeah Uhh, uhh, shit I'm livin gangsta gangsta shit Yeah (Chorus: repeat 2X) I'm from Compton, Compton, Murderville You heard these niggaz is gangsters, and they kill Rob and steal, my niggaz will peel at will For real they real, niggaz gon' feel this steel (The Game) Walk with me through the ghetto where the packs get sold And them niggaz sellin the work ain't half as old as the fiends and the hippies, same ones smokin since the 60's Everybody yellin gimme, gimme Every nigga in the hood, one hand on his jimmy Other hand grip the semi, c'mon walk with me Every ten houses, one got 'caine for sale And I give you a dope track like my name Phar-rell And you can get that stainless steel Walk in my Chuck Taylors for a day, if you think it ain't f'real When I buy rocks homey baguettes on my ring And only neighborhood watch is my Tecno Marine Keep a (Mac) on the block, I ain't talkin 'bout Beans QB in the hood and I'm far from Queens The boys in the hood is always hard So come through and get smoked like a Cuban cigar (Chorus) (The Game) I'm from Compton, Compton, a block from hell And you can come get a bird for eleven And we ain't got a penny for the reverand, a dime for a witness Only (Church's) in the hood sell chicken (ba-KAW) Every nigga in the hood sell chickens move work like city buses You fuckin with the Hub City Hustler The vans on the block won't touch us, the streets my home So I move weight on the block like I'm Moses Malone Bring the guns anywhere I roam, go with the chrome And I hit all my shots, like I'm in the A.I. zone And mob like Al Capone through N.W.A.'s home Homes like Ed Jones will cripple your team up In the home of Dr. Dre, Venus and Serena Where 14-year-olds pack ninas and drive Beamers We ball up subpeonas, take niggaz to the cleaners And you know what I'm talkin about if y'all seen where.. (Chorus) (The Game) We drug dealin, but niggaz is squealin (fuck you rats) What more can I say, just kill 'em Fuck 'em, the gun bust 'em, we just knock on wood Now is this under-stooooooood? I mostly George when I whip, my supply is good The man behind the bricks, I'm supplyin the hood Catch bodies like Pistol Pete passes on the wood Benz parked by the fence, brick stashed in the hood Top work by the inch, I bag it, it's gone Ask Quik, we rock more than microphones Some niggaz ball, some niggaz do what we do And other niggaz sing for Cash Money like TQ The block will heat and sink you (hey dude) Cali ain't all palm trees, purple haze and sea dude Lose your life tryin to get these jewels I keep the 40 cal wrapped in chrome like R2-D2 (Chorus) |
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(Verse one)
f**k it yo who the best mc on the west? by far its me and in my car is a continental tea and my broad in that continental suite with the armadell rollin up dutches like that motherf**kers beef with the kid click-clack motherf**kers let them bullets burn your six pack motherf**kers get jacked motherf**ker when you come to compton get a mack motherf**ker when you come to compton i walk through times square holdin my johnson a cross style make a jada make a run threw yonkers i got d-blocks like the locks and these glocks like to pop and n**** i like your watch so roll over you can die with the jury first n**** take the stand to testify he gunna die with the jury and i might kidnap the judge or send a team to lean on you so the D.A budge i got n****** that'll ride for a grand so handover my rock or like earl manson you can die where you stand or you can die with your man i'll let you jog for about 30 seconds then you gunned down (chorus 2x) you know this gl shit we got g's on the line or g's on the squad all week on the grind and if you doubt that step up 'cause we aint hard to find street kings in our prime you want us then come and try us (verse two) ima take it to the next take it to a motherf**kin neck pull up on a n***** holdin triggers n tecks we droppin square beads you easy to read this is the end of the road for whole ass mc's smoke grass by the pound glock holds 17 rounds and the flow'll knock any n**** down rap you like a burrito come threw and kill you and your people tell them that i shitted on you n***** like i was a flock a seagulls infared beam like a traffic jam at night handle any man in sight with his hands upon a mic wanna light i got the torch im the best california a north for any n***** puttin flamed on a porche and never drive on bitch your gunna die on san quinn for and five catch a live one bust shots at the clouds so we can shine some get up off ur ass and n**** and grind some (chorus) flash f**kers on the tip of the gat you can put on flat but ill kill that ill open u up like a mat even if u heard'at i squirted and murdered a man and these new school n***** talk like we heard of them plans two two millimeters got up up in your man gettin off on you n***** and your mini-mans only thing runnin is blood n***** so gimme a grand so we will bust your head n**** straight through your hand or get off in yo ass n**** like jackie chan and when its all said and done it's a one will stand gunnin this motorbike feelin this power man 185 miles per hour man i stay cooralatin with the taliban i show up (show up, show up, show up, show up) n***** talk about money they forgot the struggle try to paint a perfect picture they forgot the hustle pieces of a puzzle guzzlin pints watchin the moonlight in the sun light more gun fights penetentary fly three kites ive seen more pussys turn to mics than mices turn to man so n***** take the stand get stomped by another mans hand got me naughious in my abdomin got me servin grams again grams rapped in rubber bands 22's on them rubbers man slow rollin dro blowin im gettin rich you see my fro growin ho's knowin i pimp them to the fullest respect a gangsta you can shoot but i eat to the bullets i shit missles eyeballs look like crystals my shits official its your man motion man and merifrista yo yo yo yo its luke and everything i sit on fat n***** be like oh shit how a n**** shit on that? y'all see a n**** grit on tracks f**k with the red beam get a n**** hit on that f**k with the real thing not the 760 the reason that they took the fair team to get me you dont want it with my dogs you got teeni guys i mean itsy bitsy little tiny weeni guys i done seen them guys bought as big as my gats and aint even got enough strength to pull on that you want real hard core shit i be on that cop the xlt u put threes on that put cheese on hats when luchi goes n squeeze on gats and leave these on flats g's messin low they got g's on that and have your momma outside screamin please dont clap (chorus) |
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| 16. |
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(Chorus: The Game + JT)
Compton to Fillmore here we go again In the Bay, our chains hang, L.A. they can't bang Compton to Fillmore here we go again In L.A. they havin problems, the Bay we pop collars Compton to Fillmore here we go again In the Bay we pop hollows, L.A. they pop hollows Compton to Fillmore here we go again In the Bay we pop bottles, L.A. they pop bottles (JT the Bigga Figga) They can't cop what the bricks'll cost But we stay in the lane to maintain in the 6 to floss Leather gloves with the tips to toss But the money was made from conversation had to clip the boss Smash down at the V.I.P. Street smarts is crucial for young niggaz in the CX-3 Drop Jag with the price to pay Cause the bags was heavy my chain swangin like a ice capade Got the feds lookin twice this way Cause we shuffle the P's in different places that the {?} name Compton to Fillmoe man the game is real When you turn 15 get your stainless steel Whole squad been trained to kill, we official And switch to get rich now we after the meals Hard times got cakes for 3 When it's havin a bundle we break bread for the safe and flee nigga (Chorus) (The Game) I got guns, guns, guns, guns Guns all over the club We in V.I.P. strapped, security know that 25 deep, guns up under the throwback That new R. Kelly shit sound like Bobby Womack Black Wall Street in HURR, nigga where the hoes at We got sour diesel, three cases of Hypnotiq And more guns than the Nickerson Projects Niggaz don't want beef with me Cause they know they gotta pay for talkin shit but the sheets is free And ain't nuttin to shoot the club up You don't want drama in this motherf**ker throw them dubs up Jacob got the wrists on chill And N.W.A. chain glow like the memory of Ill Will Relax your mind and let your drawers feel free You're now rollin to the sound of the Game and JT (Chorus) (JT the Bigga Figga) But you can't come with the rest of her friends Cause you know I'm a boss and won't play cause she short on my ends Make rounds from the back of the Benz With the {?} that kid with frog eyes with the corners to bend The things we go through I'm beatin ya brains Got some homies next do' and I picked up the Game While they knockin on the do' I get deep in ya dame Gotta charge you a G just for speakin my name (The Game) I'm not eatin your chocha or payin for the coach ma I'm a pimp like 50, the nigga to leave you broke ma 6 in the mornin, you stretchin on the sofa Singin "Ain't No Nigga" like Foxy Brown and Hova I f**k 'em dogstyle with Billys and Novas With or without chaffeurs, I make 'em f**k the both of us You know what it is, the gangster's back And I keep my banger at where my chain hang at I'm ghetto (Chorus) - 2X |
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| 17. |
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Father you give us power to speak the word fatherYou sayWe have but to ask with a sincere heart and it will beSo we thank you for this spoken word fatherYou say that when one or more come together in your name your presents will be feltSo we now only ask to feel your presents we need to feel your presents fatherWe thank you for the blessings you have given us this dayThings that people don?t even realize that are blessingsThe food you have given us to eatThe cars you have given us to driveThe cloths you have given us to wearThe money you have given us to spend
The lives you have allowed us to touchAnd the lives that have touched our own We thank you for all these things father in the name of jesusWe thank you again for the power of the spoken wordI pray that by the end of this day this word which is your word coming through my mouthWill touch someoneAnd save someone?s lifeIn jesus mighty name I prayAmen amen |
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