Connect with us

The Game

Church for Thugs – The Game

[Verse 1]
To all my niggas on the porch getting their hair braided
Corn rolled by a L.A. bitch
And I can’t forget
My niggas riding the train Yankee fitted
Thermals under that Pelle shit
I love New York but gangbanging that’s L.A. shit
And I’m proud of it
Spit it through the wire so the crowd love it
Haters you know who you are you can turn it down fuck it
I can shoot a video to it and spend half the budget
I’m gangsta, let the .40 cal blow in public
More hatred inside my soul than Pac had for Delores Tucker
Every time one of my niggas get shot the more I suffer
Cause we trapped inside a world where your forced to die for your colors
I seen it all through the Range tints
Got niggas doing life in the state pen
So I dread like Jamaicans
If I die for one of my statements
Than break up the streets of Compton and spill my blood in the pavement

[Hook]
Believe me niggas keep sayin they gon heat me up
Talking that shit like they goin lay me down
And then I come through strapped to see what’s up
Niggas really don’t want no parts of me pal

Niggas keep sayin they gon heat me up
Talking that shit like they goin lay me down
And then I come through strapped to see what’s up
Niggas really don’t know parts of me pal

[Verse 2]
Who I gotta talk to who I gotta write
Get my Reebok deal done
Or I’m stayin’ in Air Nike’s
Aiight, I handle bars you ain’t gotta ride a bike
To peep game and his skill here go some training wheels
Let’s roll
Through the city of god
Where LA niggas train to kill
Chop you up hundred times worse than the Haitians will
For real naw Pharrell I need a track homie
Dre we to close aint no turning back homie
Deal with it I’m a be here for ten years
Spittin like the ghost of Eric Wright and Big yeah
Let me paint this picture
While you sit here thinking in the back of your mind this is the shit yeah
I spit for you niggas doing 25 on they 5th year ready to throw a nigga off the 5th tier
Them white boys in the Abercrombie and Fitch gear
And every nigga who ever helped me get here

READ  Tonight (Feat. Mele) - The Game

[Hook]
Believe me niggas keep sayin they gon heat me up
Talking that shit like they gon lay me down
And when I come through strapped to see what’s up
Niggas really don’t want no parts of me pal

Niggas keep sayin they gon heat me up
Talking that shit like they gon lay me down
And when I come through strapped to see what’s up
Niggas really don’t know parts of me pal

[Verse 3]
One brick, two brick
The boy moving weight
Now three bricks, four bricks
I’m driving upstate
Five Bricks, six bricks
The nigga got cake
Not rap money, but money been rap since ‘88
Look at the world we live in
Niggas steady hate, to the heckler at Koch
Leave him chopped up like freddy’s face
Niggas catching feelings
Cause I’m about millions
And outta all the newcomers out, my flow’s the illest
You a close second nigga,
A banana to a guerilla
Put us in the same cage and I’ma have to peel ‘em
The best of both worlds
Rapping and drug dealing
Run and tell the chief I came to burn down the village
The head honcho, staring out the third story window
Of my Beverly Hills condo
With two long ass heats
I call ‘em Shaq and Alonzo
You niggas want me outta L.A.
Yeah I know

[Hook]
Believe me niggas keep sayin’ they gon’ heat me up
Talking that shit like they gon’ lay me down
And when I come through strapped to see what’s up
Niggas really don’t want no parts of me pal

READ  Krush Groove (Feat. Get Low, JT) - The Game

Niggas keep sayin’ they gon’ heat me up
Talking that shit like they gon’ lay me down
And when I come through strapped to see what’s up
Niggas really don’t know parts of me pal

Continue Reading

The Game

Drop Ya Thangs (Feat. JT) – The Game

Lirik lagu: Drop Ya Thangs (Feat. JT)

[Chorus]
Drop ya thangs and just box
Nigga just drop ya thangs and just box
Nigga just drop ya thangs and just box
Nigga just drop ya thangs and just box

[Verse One: JT]
Yo, I hit the party in my t-shirt and tennis shoes
They all watchin in they Hot Boys and church suits
Actin tough in the club ain’t gon’ get you home
Gettin drunk off of Patron just gon’ get you domed
Still steppin on my shoes, boy this nigga happy
This nigga thank he Lil’ Jon and his partner Scrappy
Goin dumb with his bitch so he don’t like me
This ain’t the South boy, we ain’t crunk we go hyphy
You gotta know the rules, player let it go
You get to trippin my nigga you gotta hit the do’
Rollin up this eight-nine gram I’m tryin to make a plan
Tuggin on yo’ main bitch hand, tryin to make a friend
This time for escapade only make the tec a-spray
I’m in the parkin lot, standin by the Escalade
You got a problem we ain’t fightin like a man
One-on-one with the Fig’, get yo’ face in the sand, nigga

[Chorus]

[Hook: JT]
Nigga you a bitch wit’cho gun, snitch wit’cho gun
Still get found in a ditch wit’cho gun
Bitch wit’cho gun, snitch wit’cho gun
Still get found in a ditch wit’cho gun

[Verse Two: JT]
Yo, Fig’ never play with them guns, no you hear me
Fig’ ain’t shot nuttin up but kill spirits
Fig’ ain’t the one to be, scared of the losses
One-on-one fightin for stripes with right crosses
Uppercuts and heatbutts to get a head rush
Bitch niggaz rather kick back, and let they lead bust
I been a pitbull since Fila {?} and Kenny Ken
Used to chuck ’em by the corner sto’ whoever win
Them was my O.G.’s, and I was just a B.G.
Whoever want to see me, Figgaro can {?}
But now we got them old niggaz that bust with they tommy
But caught without they tommy get rushed like salami
Cause everybody tired of them R.I.P.’s
We ’bout to bring this fightin back mayne to all our streets
Now, cowards wanna pack and, killers wanna cruise and
Real niggaz stand alone mayne and do what we do
I wanna bust you but homey let me ask you
Why you wanna play with that gun, and make me blast you
Moms all cryin and shit, she gotta ask you
{?} better to save on caskets you dumb nigga

READ  Tonight (Feat. Mele) - The Game

[Chorus + Hook]

[Verse Three: JT]
Oh boy! Old friends like to make up and get cavi
Hell nah, she in the club wit’cho baby daddy
She got the coat on he bought you for yo’ birthday (oh no!)
You kickin back, I’m ’bout to clown him in the worst way (bitch)
Team on preem’ like he hangin out with ‘Pac brother
And you a boss for not cuttin him with the boxcutter
And it was cool ’til this chick really got to trippin
Spittin drink in yo’ face, boy she popped up pimpin (what?)
Zoked out like, fat boy you can’t breathe
Bounce back and grab that trick by her fuckin weave
Bring her to the flo’, teach her ’bout the Get Low
She gon’ really know, mob her on the danceflo’

[Chorus + Hook]

[JT]
Yeah I gotta acknowledge them fo’ carloads of HP niggaz
that came to Fillmoe for y’all one-on-ones mayne, and y’all got it mayne
Niggaz put the guns down and after that nigga it was real big
They get stripes for that, nigga, special shoutout nigga
to them three young Sunnydale niggaz
Nigga that was surrounded by ten Fillmoe niggaz mayne
And all y’all wanted was one-on-ones and y’all got it nigga
Stripes for that!

[Chorus + Hook]

Continue Reading

The Game

Money – The Game

[The Game]
Kanye told me that “Jesus Walks” in ’04
But I grew up around Impala’s and drug lords
Welcome to Los Angeles, palm trees and drug stores
All we know is rocks and presidents like Mount Rushmore
Fuck the police, they hop out and bust doors
I ain’t goin’ back to jail, nigga that’s what I flush for
My money or my glock, who do I trust more?
I don’t know, it’s probably the one that I touch more
Guess it’s the green, ’cause paper motivate niggaz
And my Rolex racist ’cause it hate niggaz
I used to only sell 8’s like that Laker nigga
Now I’m movin’ 24’s like I play at the Staples Center
You might miss The Game so nigga don’t blink
My Phantom stand out like Frank Lucas’ mink
So go ahead and think, like Frank Lucas think
Somebody’ll find your brains on the fuckin’ kitchen sink about

[Chorus]
Dead presidents, big paper (“for the money”)
Benjamins, skyscrapers, my niggaz get (“money”)
My bitches get (“money”) like the strippers get
From the block to the club I’ll make it rain (“money”)
In California niggaz die (“for the money”)
From the South to New York, them bullets fly for the (“money”)
Don’t stop gettin’ (“money”) It don’t matter where you from
If you hustle motherfucker keep gettin’ that (“money”)

[The Game]
I get it, that Baby and Slim, Cash Money
All the jewelry on your whole crew, that’s my tax money
That Pablo Escobar crack money
That LeBron first Nike contract money
That make it rain, all my niggaz throw a stack money
Stack it to the ceilin’ then call it Shaq money
That walk in the club, straight to the back money
Flavor of Love, Deelishis sittin’ on my lap money
That rap money, niggaz get clapped money
Air Force One’s don’t bend when I trap money
Ooooh, I’m Rich like Porter
Havin’ Alpo nightmares whippin’ that water
Like McDonald’s, I was flippin’ them orders
In that ’02 Porche truck, whizzin’ through borders
I was through flippin’ quarters when I made my first mill’
I’m about a dollar, 50 Cent ain’t real?

READ  Roll My Shit (Feat. Snoop & Pharrell) - The Game

[Chorus]
Dead presidents, big paper (“for the money”)
Benjamins, skyscrapers, my niggaz get (“money”)
My bitches get (“money”) like the strippers get
From the block to the club I’ll make it rain (“money”)
In California niggaz die (“for the money”)
From the South to New York, them bullets fly for the (“money”)
Don’t stop gettin’ (“money”) It don’t matter where you from
If you hustle motherfucker keep gettin’ that (“money”)

[The Game]
Somebody tell Snoop to pop open them briefcases
Order that Patron, tell ’em we want three cases
Fuck a black car, you see these green faces?
Look at my chest, now you seen fakers
Treat my money like the Cristal that we wastin’
Cause I’m a money machine, I could re-make it
You a fool thinkin’ that Freddy could see Jason
I’ve been iced out, like who the fuck need Jacob
The doc told me to be patient, but I want
money like Dwight Howard, next time he a free agent
I’m tryin’ to make enough money so I could feed Asia
Have Asians in the kitchen cookin’ in Louis V. aprons
Word to Martha Stewart, if I could park a Buick
Then I could flip a Brink’s truck, I got the heart to do it
Ball like the nigga Tony Parker do it
Speak no engles but dinero I talk it fluent

[Chorus]
Dead presidents, big paper (“for the money”)
Benjamins, skyscrapers, my niggaz get (“money”)
My bitches get (“money”) like the strippers get
From the block to the club I’ll make it rain (“money”)
In California niggaz die (“for the money”)
From the South to New York, them bullets fly for the (“money”)
Don’t stop gettin’ (“money”) It don’t matter where you from
If you hustle motherfucker keep gettin’ that (“money”)

READ  El Chapo (Feat. Skrillex) - The Game
Continue Reading

The Game

Cali Sunshine – The Game

[Chorus]
California sunshine, in the summer time [4x]

Last year, Jazze Phe got stuck up inside the grand lux,
Most recent was 50 in Angola, that’s what’s up,
Any rapper could touched, any bitch could get fucked,
Under the California sun, impalas and big trucks,
They say Suge got knocked out, but don’t play that nigga cheap,
Cuz you’re body might wash up by the courts at Venice Beach,
Ain’t shit sweet but my Swisher, ain’t shit buzzin but my liquor,
Cali chickens got to the 80’s strip and come back a little thicker,
With more ass then Delicious, that’s my Flavor of Love,
We make it rain like Rainman, when he play with the glove,
I’m the king to you pawn niggas, punisher, spawn, niggas,
Playin in green, Paul Pierce to you Lebron niggas,
We them barbeque, front and back lawn niggas,
Summer Jam, throw your ass offstage Akon niggas,
We drink Kool Aid with the ice on your arm nigga,
Take that Champion hoody off in the California sunshine

[Chorus]

I’m in my drop top Phantom, down Wilshire boulevard,
We can’t find Biggies’ killers so we gave Diddy a star,
And I’m by far, Hollywood boulevard,
but I’m from a boulevard that tought ya’ll to shoot out of moving cars,
Remember, New Jersey driver’s like a East Coast menace,
And Belly was like the sequel without O-Dogg in it,
Give me a New York minute,
to show you Cali got more dead bodies then the Yankees got New York pennants,
Cuz we Dodgers and Impalas with the windows tinted,
I duck shots where Venus and Sarena used to play tennis,
And they never came back, like throwin a boomerang flat,
See me, I’m posted like a Cincinatti pitcher in the same hat,
It’s like a scene from a movie, when the screen fade black,
Niggas roll up on you, Now you stuck in that Harold and Cane trap,
If you slippin in Hollywood, and you get your chain snatched,
I know some niggas that know some niggas, Ill get your chain back.

READ  Krush Groove (Feat. Get Low, JT) - The Game

[Chorus]

Niggas already know who had the marijuana first,
We birthed haze and sour diesel, I was there when the water burst,
Hell nah we don’t surf, We half way go to church,
Tell you the truth, shiit, right now I’m in the fuckin hearse,
And it ain’t my night to get buried in the dirt
But it is your day to get buried by a verse,
It’ll be another ten years before you see an MC Ren here,
Where he been, I been there, that Lambo, I’m in there,
Hotter then the beginning of my career with 50, Dre and Em there,
Top off the Murcialago like Victoria’s Secret swim swear,
So listen, I’m so sincere, bout to work out like gym wear,
Murder MTV’s top ten, and tat my face with 10 tears,
That’s 10 funerals, 10 caskets,
10 3-piece Ralph Lauren suits, 10 motorbikes stopping traffic,
And 10 reasons why I got California hotter than acid,
Don’t you ever, ever leave me out of the top 10 you fuckin’ bastards
Blaow.

[Chorus]

Continue Reading