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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

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)

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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

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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

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