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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

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[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]

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The Game

Let’s Ride – The Game

[Verse 1]
Pull the rag off the six-fo’,
Hit the switch, show niggas how the shit go,
The Game is back, the Aftermath chain is gone,
The D’s is chrome, the frame is black.
(So watch it lift up)
Till the motherfucker bounce and break,
And knock both of the screws out the licence plate.
Let the games begin,
These other rap niggas so far behind me, go taste my rims,
Shit, let the chronic burn as the datens spin.
It ain’t been this much drama since I first heard Eminem,
In the club, poppin’ X pills like M & Ms,
Call it Dre day, we celebratin’, bitch bring a friend.
Bottles on me, tell the waiter to order another round,
And put that cheap-ass hypnotic down.
(Put your ‘cris up!)
If you feel the same way,
Who got ’em hittin’ switches NY to LA

[Hook]
(If I could fit the whole hood in the club)
Hop in the low-rider, long as you got bitches in the back,
(I turn it into a strip-club)
Call it a lap-dance, when the six-fo’ bounce that ass,
(If I could fit the whole world in the club)
Tell the DJ to bang my shit, the west-coast in this bitch
(Pop bottles and twist up)
Roll up chronic and hash,
In a blunt, call it Aftermath

[Verse 2]
Somebody tell me where the drinks at,
Where the bitches at,
You fucking on the first night, meet me in the back.
I got a pound of chronic, and a gang of freaks,
Move bitch! Who the fuck you think they came to see?
The protégé of the D R E,
You take a picture with him, and you gotta fuck me,
And you gotta fuck Busta, can’t touch Eve,
Got something in my waist that you can’t touch either,
That’s – my gangsta bitch, and like Crips and Bloods,
I’m in the club on some gangsta shit.
(So nigga twist up)
Light another dub,
Bitches get scared when niggas start fighting in the club.
Ain’t nothing but a g-thing, baby it’s a g-thing,
Bounce like you got hydraulics in your g-string,
I fuck a different bitch seven days a week,
Hit the switch, watch it bounce like a Scott Storch beat.

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[Hook]
(If I could fit the whole hood in the club)
Hop in the low-rider, long as you got bitches in the back,
(I turn it into a strip-club)
Call it a lap-dance, when the six-fo’ bounce that ass,
(If I could fit the whole world in the club)
Tell the DJ to bang my shit, the west-coast in this bitch
(Pop bottles and twist up)
Roll up chronic and hash,
In a blunt, call it Aftermath

[Verse 3]
Niggas thought I wasn’t coming back, look at me now
Hoppin’ out the same Cherry six-fo’ with the motherfucking top down,
I’m The Game, nigga
Call your bitch, she ain’t home, she with Game, nigga
Remember that, Dre
You passed me the torch, I lit the chronic with it, now the world is my ashtray,
Ridin’ three-wheel motion ’till the ass scrapes,
Turn sunset into a motherfucking drag-race.
Now watch it bounce,
Hit the switch, let it bounce till the police shut the shit down.
(When you hit the club)
Tell ’em you came with me,
(We gonna twist up)
In the V.I.P.
It’s a new day, and if you ever knew Dre,
Motherfucker, you would say I was the new Dre.
Same Impala, different spokes
Same chronic, just a different smoke.

[Hook]
(If I could fit the whole hood in the club)
Hop in the low-rider, long as you got bitches in the back,
(I turn it into a strip-club)
Call it a lap-dance, when the six-fo’ bounce that ass,
(If I could fit the hole world in the club)
Tell the DJ to bang my shit, the west-coast in this bitch
(Pop bottles and twist up)
Roll up chronic and hash,
In a blunt, call it Aftermath

READ  Born in the Trap - The Game
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The Game

Ol’ English – The Game

[Chorus]
Ol’ English (la-lala-la-la-la-la)
Ridin’ by gettin’ high
Smokin’ on that chronic drinkin’ Ol’ English
Rags tied gangs signs Letters on my hat in
Ol’ English (la-lala-la-la-la-la)
Drive by homicide
R.I.P. tats in Ol’ English Westside ’til I die
Niggas pourin’ out that Ol’ English (la-lala-la-la-la-la)

[Verse 1]
Once upon a time in the projects yo
I watched my uncle Greg put D’s on his six-fo’
I washed it on Monday so he bought me a gold chain
Shopped crack and watched “Colors” and I soaked up game
Drove the Impala on his lap that was my role model
Used to let me kill the corner of his 40-ounce bottle
On the weekend him and my pops flashed the ‘Vette
‘Til one weekend my uncle got stabbed to death
He got murdered by a fiend my pops ain’t like that
He was from Nutty Block they used to call him Maniac
Crazy ass nigga wit’ a Black Panther tat
Kill a nigga cross him out on his Compton hat
Told me when I got older I would understand that
It’s blood in blood out and ain’t no turnin’ back
Few summers went by and we moved across the tracks
13 that’s when I had my first

[Chorus]

[Verse 2]
I was the first nigga wit’ a Starter jacket on the block
Used to build model cars and let the motherfuckers hop
Moms banged Hoover Crip she was known for sellin’ rocks
Let me collect the 40-ounce bottles in the dope spot
Bought my first Converse thought I couldn’t be stopped
When I creased up my khakis and threw on my Ronnie Lott
Used to think that I was hard so I stole my brother’s glock
And that’s the day my life changed ’cause that night he got shot
Killed by another crip over his Rolex watch
I got high for three years off that Chronic from the Doc
I was drinkin’ 40-ounces a lot
And every liquor store in Compton sold out the day Eazy dropped
I start bangin’ red laces in my Adidas
Drinkin’ out a brown paper bag on my first drive-by
I was a menace to society
But I never left fingerprints on my

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[Chorus]

[Verse 3]
I got a lot of dead homies some blood some crip
This is life stop watchin’ that “Boyz N The Hood” shit
You see this red rag hangin’ out of my jeans?
I went to twenty funerals by the age of nineteen
Then I went to college basketball was my dream
Quit the team ’cause I rather shoot rock wit’ the fiends
Wanted to be Freeway Rick
He showed me how to trun a stolen 5.0 into a brick
Bought a Cadillac thought I was rich bangin’ DJ Quik
On Crenshaw got jacked for my shit
Took a long chronic hit and thought about the time
When I was 12 years old and I emptied my first clip
Hit my first switch same night fucked my first bitch
Thought I was dreamin’ ’til I pinched her tits
She caught a stray bullet ridin’ shotgun in my shit
So I got her name tatted in

[Chorus]

Ol’ English [x4]

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The Game

Bad Intentions – The Game

Lirik lagu: Bad Intentions

Bad intentions nigga
Fucking with the wrong one
Call Dre tell that nigga I’m on one
Aftermath nigga we blaze cuban cigars
Drive foreign cars into the stars
Fuck bitches at our leisure
Stuff dick inside they throat til they have seizures
Hoes down, B’s up
Roll the trees up, Smokey Robinson
Start trippin, I like his jewelry, then I’m robbin son
Fuck a platinum plaque nigga hood with it
Bouncin that impala down the shore like what’s good with it?
I’m a made man, I wear J’s and
I been around more rocks than a fuckin cave man
I done sold it and bagged it
I done drove it and crashed it
Fucked my credit up smashin the Ashton
FYI nigga I got a magnum,
Only time I been punked was by Ashton Kutcher
I’m a motherfuckin butcher
Leave me around anything white and I’m a cook it
I be all up in the kitchin
No need for an apron, playboy
I’m a professional, I’m cakin playboy
The last real D-boy up in this rap shit
Chrome 24s with the fat lip, call the shits? cash
? Fuckin with the bomb squad
Dismantle any MC for free, you been warned god
Church, Higher power
Impala sittin clean like it took 5 showers
Nigga I’m the G.A.M.E. so don’t you tempt me
Your chest’ll be full and my clip will be empty
I’m simply one of the most raw niggas in this shit
Why you think that I got in this shit?
Paid for my momma house, bout 700k
Can’t stop smokin but I’m down to a blunt a day
Yay, I mean yayo
On the block sun up sun down like where the day go?
We come through chargin nigga like San Diego
Seventeen chargers, couple of em same color but the shit is ok though
Cause all my niggas on the payroll get caught slippin, get a halo
And I ain’t talking bout the x-box
Niggas let the tech knock
Welcome to the real life, black ops
Where it’s still fuck the police, white and black cop
And we ain’t killin Jonny, no
Nigga give em an ass shot
Put him on injured reserve
Tie my number twelves up and then I give him the bird, word
That’s how I get down, all you rap niggas floppin
Who talkin shit now? only Drake and Yay worth coppin
I take a hiatus, spend a little time gamblin in Vegas
Come back to back runnin faster than five Lakers
So mother fuck a hater and his family
About to finish the R.E.D. album up in Miami
Lebron can’t stand me, cause I got this purp in my cup
24s on the truck, Laker game nigga what?
Ballin, Jim Jones voice probably with the Byrd Gang
See the chrome boy? and my mother fuckin home boys
But I’m from Cali not to be confused with Khaled
He say that we the best but I’m the best that’s valid
And before you try to say that that’s a diss,
I was up at Khaled’s house two days ago bitch
Sippin on a Long Island ice tea with a white bitch
That was just as bad as Ice-T’s, but she’s not the wifey
The wife be at home with the kid’s
Look at them and see how a motherfucker live
24 cars, 5 and a half cribs, I was spending money like goin broke was the shit, shit.

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