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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  Troublesome - 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  Money Over Bitches (Feat. JT) - The Game
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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  Bad Intentions - 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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The Game

Dreams (Street Remix) (Feat. Kanye West, Notorious B.I.G.) – The Game

Lirik lagu: Dreams (Street Remix) (Feat. Kanye West, Notorious B.I.G.)

[Kanye West]
Yo whassup this is Kanye-to-the
Y’know good music is in the building
The Roc is in the building
I just called, called to shoutout my dawg Game
Chillin in the streets right now
That “Dreams” joint is crazy
We gotta get, get started on our next joint my nigga
Holla

[Notorious B.I.G.]
It was all a dream…
(Was it all a dream?) [2X]
(Was it all a dream?) Dream (dream) dream (dream) dream
(Was it all a dream?) ([Jay-Z:] “It was all a dream”) [3X]

[Notorious B.I.G.]
It was all a dream; I used to read Word Up magazine
Salt’n’Pepa and Heavy D up in the limousine
Hangin pictures on my wall
Every Saturday, Rap Attack – Mr. Magic, Marley Marl
I let my tape rock ’til my tape popped
Smokin weed and bamboo, sippin on private stock
Way back, when I had the red and black lumberjack
With the hat to match
(Jay-Z: “It was all a dream”) Duh-ha, duh-ha
You never thought that hip-hop would take it this far
Now I’m in the {dream} cause I rhyme {dream}
Time to get paid, blow up like the World Trade
Born sinner, the opposite of a winner
Remember when I used to eat sardines for dinner
Peace to Ron G, Brucey B, Kid Capri
Funkmaster Flex, Lovebug Starsky
I’m blowin up like you thought I would
Call the crib, same number same hood, it’s {dream}

[The Game]
Aaliyah had a {dream} Left Eye had a {dream}

[Notorious B.I.G.]
And if you don’t know, now you know
It was all a dream ([Jay-Z:] “It was all a dream”) [4X]
It was all a dream

READ  Change Your Life (Feat. BWS) - The Game
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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  Money Over Bitches (Feat. JT) - The Game
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