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The Game

Dr. Dre, Pt. 2 – The Game

Lirik lagu: Dr. Dre, Pt. 2

[Dr. Dre:]
In Compton, you either a blood or a crip
Nigga ain’t no one in between
Shit was a hard decision for him to make, cause both his parents was crips
His Uncle Greg was a crip, he died when he was 5
His brother Jevon, he got murdered when he was just 13
After that he decided that being a crip just wasn’t for him
So he ran across the tracks until everything turned red
And never looked back

READ  We Ain't (Feat. Eminem) - The Game
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The Game

Rolling Stone (Feat. Papoose & Young Buck) – The Game

Lirik lagu: Rolling Stone (Feat. Papoose & Young Buck)

(Verse)
Nigga pull up, hop out the cutlass, tell a nigga fuck this
I ain’t toleratin no fuck shit
Wifey at the halfway house, with a bitch with her ass hanging halfway out
I aint bout no games nigga, that’s my name
Gold grill with a blunt hangin halfway out
Nigga can’t tell me shit unless he got hits and then he can tell me how them hash weigh out
Crib laid out like a pimp here, your bitch there on a bed made out
Nigga talkin that fuck shit, we just spread out
Boy get yo whole motherfuckin hood K’d out
I was born in the CP, Tommy on my lap
If it’s cheese in that hoe you can find me in the trap
But when it’s snap, give a fuck about a rap
Yuck me and Buck back, 7-11 on the crack
See a Cadillac? Get the fuck up outta there
Grand Theft Auto on a bitch ass nigga
Getting 3 up, bring a truck up outta that
Then pop bottles, let me hit that nigga
Roll blunts the size of this mack
I’m in love with the kush, ain’t givin that back, trill nigga
Smoke til my lungs collapse
Pass out with a 5th of that cognac
Real niggas gon recognize this G shit
Don’t come at me with no peace shit
That peace shit, that was ‘89
I get yo ass hit with 89’s
Motherfucker fore the cops get down, nigga J’s comin off
Drive off with the K’s runnin off
Fly home, tuck my sons into bed
Kiss my daughter on the head and leave a note by her motherfuckin bed

READ  We Ain't (Feat. Eminem) - The Game

Hook:
Papa was a rolling stone
Wherever he laid his hat was his home
And when he died all he left us was alone
Papa was a rolling stone, my son
Wherever he laid his hat was his home
And when he died all he left us was alone

(Verse)
Ain’t shit changed with me nigga
Been around the world with the same AK
Same clip with mo bodies on it
Then hook yo hood with this beef shit
Lookin around but nobody want it
Niggas know what’s up with Buck
Get a couple murder cases comin up
Shoot first!
Molly poppin, that’s young niggas
All they really wanna do now is so guns
Movin on and I’m gone
Papa got a brand new home
And I’m not lookin back, I’m just cookin crack
Until I get back where I belong
My bitch leave brains all on my seat
But these niggas’ blood all on my hands
Been ridin up and down these streets
Fuckin as many niggas I can
Shotgun shell still in my leg
Got a few racks still on my head
Gotta stay strapped now, they handicapped now
Fuck niggas who’s stealin my bread
Had to buy a graveyard for just trappers
Ain’t got a funeral home for you rappers
Know I can play the role with you actors
When we gon get enough to come after
Now send it nigga, I’m going Kendrick nigga
You can start the shit but I’mma end it nigga
If you getting money better spend it nigga
This real life, no pretending nigga
Back at it again, fresh out the pen
Remember back then? They had to let me in
And yall niggas talkin bout cashin out
I need a trash bag to put the cash in

READ  Church for Thugs - The Game

Hook:
Papa was a rollin stone
Wherever he laid his hat was his home
And when he died all he left us was alone
Papa was a rollin’ stone, my son
Wherever he laid his hat was his home
And when he died all he left us was alone

(Verse)
They told me papa was a rolling stone
Like Mick Jagger keep bitches round they whips, Charlie hold it holmes
You ain’t a poet cus you wrote a poem
I am lyrically until these spirits really higher on the totem pole
I get the cheese, cheddar mozzarella
American, moderate, jack, swizz, feta, mars the prevalone
I bring a nigga down limb by limb
Blood sweat tears molecules flesh then show my chromosomes
Jim star, raise it fo yo dome
With a hole in yo face shot just like Macaulay Culkin Home Alone
Tote the chrome and spark blast with a dark mask, tryna pop trash, blowin at yo motor home
I’m on LeBron, catch you bitchin on my block
I’mma knock it out the park
Babe Ruth, go and throw it go
I grab his bones squeeze 3, brought him like DD, you PC no ET in fully home
Guantanamo… all of yall fucked up
Young Buck, roll em holmes
Have a glass of murda, have em grab the burner
I’m so nice, can see these rappers cry so loaners
My way fowl, don’t convert you have a jazz converter
You need bigger hard drives, I’mma crash yo server
I was raised with the killers in a class of burglars
I’ve been the truth in the booth go and ask the jugger
This is annihilation, you niggas violatin, won’t die hatin, getting shots like immunization
I’m sendin vibrations that could shake a wise nation
And if the devil was a liar then you gon die satan
You ever disrespect my brother soldiers
You gon see a bunch of Rolls with tints, throw em in the cellar
Blood on my hands so blood money low
You got blood on yo hands cus you a cutthroat

READ  Walk Thru the Sky - The Game

Hook:
Papa was a rollin stone
Wherever he laid his hat was his home
And when he died all he left us was alone
Papa was a rollin’ stone, my son
Wherever he laid his hat was his home
And when he died all he left us was alone

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The Game

Runnin’ (Feat. Tony Yayo) – The Game

Lirik lagu: Runnin’ (Feat. Tony Yayo)

[Chorus]
Got to live for today cause tomorrow ain’t promised to me
Don’t just want a piece I want my whole destiny
(If you got it)
I’m gone take it
(If you’re in it)
You’re coming with me
(Bench warmers)
Get no playing time
(No sleeping)
Till I cross the line
I’m runnin’

[The Game]
With 99 miles left, on the Avis rental car
blowing horns like Miles Davis at the pearly gate
God let me in
Give me a room by Aaliyah with ESPN
I know I got more sins than two lesbians
Been back and forth across the border like Mexicans
But (I’m runnin’) like New York pedestrians
Trying not to scuff my Nike Air checks again
It’s funny how niggaz be the best of friends
And fall out over pussy and wanna dead they man
One of my niggaz in the grave the other one in the pin
She fuckin my enemies inside my homeboys Benz
Now she beggin God’s mercy cause she ain’t listen to Nas
And never heard about Ike and the Iverson jersey
He got a cousin named Jason that rock the Gary Payton
Now the same trifling bitch is a HIV patient
True story

[Chorus]

[Tony Yayo]
If I get knocked with my gun nigga I’m runnin’
If I catch a murder one nigga I’m runnin’
Homicide come around and they keep on coming
That’s why I’m out of state and I keep on runnin’
I ain’t Nelly but my desert eagles on girl
Just dropped bail traveling the world
When I sign my deal I said fuck jail
I went on tour to Barcelona and Brazil
This shit real fuck an appeal
D’s want my head like that bitch in Kill Bill
Sling dope sling crack and them e pills
That’s why I’m on the low like a damn navy seal
I’m runnin’

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[Chorus]

[Game]
Cause I gotta pack them shows
And Dre told me ain’t no coming back from Go
So I gotta get my album in place
My G-Unit features
My Eminem sixteens
My Dr. Dre beats
And it was two years from today when I started rhyming
And took my demo to Suge and he ain’t sign me
Niggaz threatening my life like it’s hard to find me
See me shining in the hood like twenty inch Lexanis
My mom said I’m hard head
I don’t follow the rules
Why should I when Reebok giving niggaz they own shoes
And I’m dealing with the same problems 50 Cent got
Yayo in jail and they think I’m trying to take his spot
I’m in the studio laughing at Chris Rock
Then I turn on MTV and see Soulja Slim shot
And niggaz trying to gun me down in the rim shop
Cause I just want the same recognition that the crypts got
They say I’m the next in line and if I get shot
Then I go out as the Bobby Fischer of hip hop
Make yo chest move
Sylvia Rome and Kevin Lyle slept cool
Jimmy Iovine was the best move

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The Game

Hit The J (Feat. Lifestyle) – The Game

Lirik lagu: Hit The J (Feat. Lifestyle)

That Marry Jane
That OG Kush, that sour diesel drive them girls insane
I roll it up, she disappear like David Blane
And she ain’t try to book a flight on that paper plane
She don’t wanna hit the J
She don’t wanna hit the J
She don’t wanna hit the J
She don’t wanna hit the J

Don’t want an undefeated title, don’t want my chain
Don’t want that new kid red, bitch, is money gain
See that red Maserati, niggas know it’s game
Drive that bitch down road screens and blow the brains
Got that Rolly on my wrist, man that hoe insane
Remind me of my chick Regatta, she always pay.
Got a squad full chicks, they ain’t dropping names
They all call like the get up play for Notre Dame
What’s the next? Gotta dig ins, yea, that’s right, that’s right
You know I’ll be digging, I’ll be eating on the kitten, I’ll be picking out
Never take her out to crustaceans and the in and out
Just like that Charlie Shay, nigga goin’ in ‘er mouth
She do everything ‘xcept smoke that mean let a nigga poke
That mean she be off the coke like players centerfolds
Swear to God she a potent man
But she like Lindsay Lohan, except she be running from that dope man

That Harry Potter, that Marry Jane
That OG Kush, that sour diesel drive them girls insane
I roll it up, she disappear like David Blane
And she ain’t try to book a flight on that paper plane
Cause she don’t wanna hit the J (she don’t wanna hit the J)
She don’t wanna hit the J (she don’t wanna hit the J)
She don’t wanna hit the J (she don’t wanna hit it)
Now she don’t wanna hit the J (woh oh woh oh)

READ  Church for Thugs - The Game

Hit these bitches in my face, I’m blowing up
And when I’m stepping in the place, we’ll be calling up
Fourteen bottles of Ace, models showing up
I tell ‘er, homie break that down, and we gon roll it up
It’s Friday and she ain’t got shit to do
And we ain’t got shit to do
So umm, what’s good with you?
Smoke a little, talk a little, roll that up
Girl twist that J, remind me of my nigga Rondo
I know she ain’t trying to hit that J
Different chains, different lokes
Different days, different strokes.
I smoke that shit that made Arnold and Willis broke
You know my lifestyle, squeeshes in them life styles
Bitches in the white house, red Camarro piped out.
I’ll be iced out, my blunts be packed in
I’ll smoke them till it’s no more, I’m like the pack ten
I’m ’bout to pack ten bitches with them accents
Man we ’bout to pack twelve swishers in that black hen

That Harry Potter, that Marry Jane
That OG Kush, that sour diesel drive them girls insane
I roll it up, she disappear like David Blane
And she ain’t try to book a flight on that paper plane
Cause she don’t wanna hit the J (she don’t wanna hit the J)
She don’t wanna hit the J (she don’t wanna hit the J)
She don’t wanna hit the J (she don’t wanna hit it)
Now she don’t wanna hit the J (woh oh woh oh)

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