The Game Album

[No lyrics]

(feat. JT)

[JT]
G-Man Stan, yeah mayne
I see you done put together one of them tracks mayne
Let me get on down here to the C-P-T
Better known as Compton mayne
Get my young homey The Game, y'knahmean?
Young nigga up outta Compton mayne, y'knahmsayin?
This 2002, we gon' see what it do mayne
Y'knahmean? Yarra

[The Game]
Now everybody wanna know the truth about a nigga named Game
I come from the hub and every ghetto ain't the same
A lot of people already know exactly where it's at
Cause it's the home of the jackers and the crack
(Compton!) Yeah that's the name of my hometown
I'm goin down, in the town, where my name is all around
A nigga just be hatin and shit, that's a pity
But I ain't doin nuttin but claimin my city

[Chorus: JT]
Where they actin a fool, and they carry the tool
Them sick dudes in the streets of Compton
Where I found The Game, he was stackin his change
to maintain in the streets of Compton
Took a trip to the Sco, got low for the dough
In Fillmoe from the streets of Compton
Now we stackin the bread, never run from the feds
They shed treads in the streets of Compton

[The Game]
See my lyrics are double or nothin provin to suckers I can throw 'em
Pass the natural 10 to 4 and six-eight before I go
Not really into freestylin, or tryin to promote violence
But they gotta know about the five-five-fo', so
That's how I'm livin, I do as I please B
A young gangsta put in work on these Cali streets
And everybody know, that you gotta be stompin
If you're born and raised in Compton

[Chorus]

[The Game]
Nowww Compton is a place, where all my niggaz chill dog
'til I found out, the streets get real dog
'Bout a year ago, somebody musta wanted me to die
Cause they kicked in the door, and gave the young kid five
They musta thought that I was gon' play the bitch role
Cause I lived through fo' five six holes
But I ain't goin out like no faggot-ass clown
They found, they couldn't keep a gangsta nigga down
So here's the burner in your face motherfucker silly sucker
ass clucker now you're duckin cause you can't stop a Y.G.
Gangsta, cause I'm true to my game
You're lame, and thangs ain't gon' never be the same
Cause a nigga like the Game is takin over
I really don't think I should have to explain
Oh yeah I'm a dog but my name ain't Rover
And I'm the kinda nigga that's feelin no pain
Sometimes I have to wear a bulletproof vest
Because I got the C-P-T style written across my chest
A gangsta motherfucker never ceasin to impress
My name is young Game so you can fuck, the rest
I'm comin like this and I'm comin directly
Cause niggaz gettin all stirred up, I'm doin damage quite effectively
Rhymin is a battlezone and niggaz can't win
Cause I'm a gangsta from the C-O-M-P-T-O-N

[Chorus]

[JT and Game ad lib shoutouts]

(feat. Bluechip, JT)

[JT]
Another G-Man Stan production
The originator of this 808 shit in the Bay area
You got your boy JT the Bigga Figga
thuggin it out with my young nigga the Game, and my homey Bluechip
Blacksox, oh boy! Hooked up with Get Low Records
Puttin this shit together, my nigga

It ain't a nigga in the game that could hold me down
I've been independent forever so they know me now
And I'm the cat they gotta find when they wanna get signed
You wanna get your paper right you gotta study my grind
I'm like Rush in "Krush Groove," a nigga that bust moves
right out, and tuck tools, bullets that bust dudes
Ain't no beef in the briefcase, just beef for Pete's sake
We round up cats, to beat 'em in a street race
We count paper up, to make a nigga change his plans
They under weight so they ain't gettin off they gram
You mad at my boys, cause we choppin 'em in
They make twenty then the Fig want 10
That's the rules that the Get Low, play by
The block boys stay high, California stock with K-5
It's the rules that the Get Low play by
Them block boys stay high, the California K-5

[Chorus: The Game]
Huh, it's the Blacksox doin a joint together
The whole world stoppin to listen, ol' breakers poplockin to this
And white boys headboppin in 6's, niggaz boxin in prison
Shit bang hard like a conjugal visit
And the game ain't big enough for niggaz so move over
Matter fact, move out, we takin over
Them boys is comin, and they aimin straight for the neck
The B-L-A, C-K, S-O-X

[Bluechip]
Yo, yo, well it's the B dot L dot, you know the rest
Wanted by the feds, hated by the ATF
You can catch me at the DuPont Inn, two dykes swallowin gin
Shorty sucked me out of my Timbs
My bad, that's your wife? Fuck your life
Anyway I heard you workin for vice
You ain't real man you hide behind ice
Youse a impostor, snatch him off the roster
Always live by the rule, get dough, or die tryin
Hardcoded into shinin
Pass the bucket now I'm back on bet it
If, beef was erased man my tool gon' finish
Never been the loudmouth type
Sugar Shane of this rap shit, southpaw when the mac spit
Listen rookie, don't make me mad boy
Or you gon' be like Big, a dead (Bad Boy)

[Chorus]

[The Game]
Huh, niggaz think they got the game sewed, yeah right
I'm air tight, fresh in them Air Nikes
If the Navi outside, I might be there
Black hoodie, black 9, black wifey airs
Rock guns like Caddy trunks, keep a spare
You see the lump under the Iceberg fleece and gear
And when the beef cook, I'ma put the piece to your head
And if you see a white truck that mean yo' sheets is dead
Then I'm goin goin, back back
to the block to dump the bucket and jump in the drop
Niggaz know I'm good with the glock, they call me Chick Hearns
Cause if the game on knot, I'm callin the shots
I'll wear a shiny suit for a minute like I'm The LOX
Then get gangster with a swap meet bag and a Jordan box
And when I die, bury me with the glock, and a bucket of shells
In case niggaz want drama in hell

[Chorus]

(feat. Get Low, JT)

[JT]
We on our third song, we on our third song, heyyeyy

You understand it, I'm official with mine; I'm double-clutchin
on the fo'-wheel, pushin quarters like niggaz doin dope deals
Fo' cut 50 like a verse and a half
I cut the brick and now we countin the math, we 'bout that birdplay
My crew's committed, you dudes gon' get it
Have a seat you through when I'm finished, my troopers is fitted
Got 'em posted out in Brooklyn, Hollis Queens to the Bridge
We in the studio the Figgaro done did it again
We got factors out in the ditch where they smackin a bitch
I got homies out in the Bronx where they bustin at cops
It ain't no game with the underground, came from the underground
Pushin a hundred thousand, we out the trunk, never browsin
JT, another boss from the Bay
And rest in peace to my boy Mac Dre, what'chu say nigga?
JT, another boss from the Bay
And rest in peace to my boy Mac Dre, motherfucker

[Nina B]
Hey yo it seem to me like e'rybody got they own truth
Believe me I'm in them sheets like phonebooths
I play the game I was born to score
But I'm a lil' too cute for them corner stores
A little too, known, to stand on the block
And a lil' too eager to sit in the spot
Mami, I'm from the Eastside, yup yes that side
Heads fly if I open ya chest that wide
Gimme a bad vibe end up on ya backside
Or you can get your back and side splatted in back of ya ride
And I can make it happen, if I don't make it rappin
This lump of Satan I'm packin thrash 'em with a major passion
I slash ya face and fracture you flashin in the latest fashion
And have you dashin from Manhattan all the way to Aspen
Your shit is whack, heard your tape and had to take an aspirin
Step ya game up

[instrumental break]

[unknown Get Low male]
Listen, before I get up in the mornin I ask the Lord for strength
Tryin to get my niggaz out the hood, you know how the forces get
It's like the devil got a hold of my neck
And I'm gettin this change runnin 'round reppin my set
Momma used to look at me funny; she could tell her baby boy changed
Must be out there gettin some money
But it's a price for everything, you know how the game go
For them birds niggaz'll cock back the calico
Now you introduced to the beef, what'chu gon' do now?
Bitch up, skid in your crib, or pull them tools out?
A lot of niggaz is real, a lot of niggaz is fake
A lot of niggaz shake your hand and shake hands with Jake

[another Get Low male]
Fuck what'chu heard, I startled your brain
I hit the spot like a {?} in ballers and jeans
On some eighty-eight shit, more "Raw" than Kane
It's not my fault she looked at me - you better talk to your dame
That's just, part of the game and you got served
Who got nerve cause Lethal hard like Tupac words
And, why y'all Chucks always actin like tough guys
You must be trippin or you slippin on mudslides
And in the hood you see it's different from one time
What's your bloodline, play the strip to the sunshine
And I don't even know why I'm wastin my breath
I oughta be like Makaveli and be fakin my death
I keep that good shit it's tastin so fresh
And all y'all sloppy Joe niggaz yo y'all makin a mess
We on the way to yo' nap, so put your tapes in the deck
And spit in a hundred bars straight without breakin a sweat

[The Game]
I'm too gangsta for the streets, watch me when I creep
I put five in your Jeep, leave a nigga sleep
Now you six feet deep over bullshit
Got a mac-10 mouth, ain't never pull shit
The ghetto don't make G's, it mold niggaz, get down or lay down
like Beanie Mac told niggaz or meet the fo'-fo' nigga
I let them guns blow, nigga I'm a rider
Thug Life 'til I die, Black Wall Street behind us
I'm a "Menace II Society," fuck Caine and O-Dog
I got the 'caine and the O's, dawg
I'm gangsta like Hennessy and Alize, Thug Passion
Ride or die 'til they kill me or put me in "Thugz Mansion"
Gangbangin, this California lifestyle got me heated
They want me buried, so I don't leave without the Desert Eagle
Shoot first, ask questions on my way to county jail
Kill a nigga over my chain cause I know I'ma make bail
I'm troublesome

[The Game]
"If I Die Tonite" - "Bury Me a G" amongst rap legends
Cause I spit bullets in rhymes, 16's and 9's
I keep a vest and a weapon, my baby momma got me stressin
Prayin on my knees every night askin God is there a heaven?
So here is my confession to my unborn child
Them five shots couldn't drop me, but I ain't take 'em and smile
I lost a lot of my niggaz to gangbangin and digits
One figure on the trigger dawg I live the life of a sinner
These motherfuckers wanna see me doin life in the pen
I'm a Outlaw, and the West coast is ridin again
My competition is none, I'm on a mission with guns
Starin death in the eyes, 20 niggaz deep when we ride
My enemies is bitches, they plottin on my riches
Can't walk in the streets without the paparazzi takin pictures
Label me a made nigga, all the way from Compton to Boston
These niggaz keep talkin I leave 'em dead in a coffin
I'm troublesome

[The Game]
Money over bitches is my motto in the streets I'm known for catchin hollows
Packin pistols and drinkin Belve and Grey Goose out the bottle
No role models, only killers and fiends
Witness my nigga strapped with gats and army fatigues
If it's murder he wrote it, if I'm lyin let the XXL quote it
And know that I'm strictly a rap poet
Baptized in my own tears, chastized by my own peers
I'm a product of my childhood years
My mother told me I'm HOPELESS, my pops wasn't around
One of the reasons why I'm clutchin the pound
California dreamin, chronic smoke out the beamer
One hand on the nina schemin got these hooptie bitches screamin
They know that I'm celebrity, keep them cop killers in the clip
And watch my back is what my niggaz keep tellin me
21 years old, no felonies, so I ride with the Desert
And pay homage to the hardest rap legend
I'm troublesome

(feat. JT)

[The Game]
You can catch five, or catch me in the CL-5
Whatever way dog, the Game get live
Keepin it gangsta in a P.D. fitted velour
Late night I'm in Dublin's and I got myself a four
The hood love me, hoodrats gotta hug me
Pop ex, spark the buba, the shit get ugly
Rock the mic anywhere, and I ain't talkin 'bout a concert dog
Talkin 'bout ten niggaz in converts dog
Get it crackin like we out in the yard, and the warden's watchin
Only difference is the whores is watchin
Still love to see a nigga, roll up on 20's
Hop in that six-four, roll up on Bentley's like
I'm a gangsta bay-bee from the C-P-T
Run with the (Pound) like I'm from DPG
If it's beef, you C-Murder like it ain't No Limit
And I represent the P like Russell Simmons

[Chorus: repeat 2X]
I'm a neighborhood superstar, get it, right
Got it? Good, okay
It's the Black Sox and Get Low we get dough
In the Yay they pimp hoes, in Compton we six-fo'

[JT]
I know ya, love to watch me, 'specially when I'm lookin rocky
The trey with the broccoli with my handles on the Kawasaki
Handle my jewels with the cuff in my shoes
Avi jacket on my elbow, 50 coast the jewels
In my neighborhood I'm Young Bill Gates, never shuffle the cake
So cover my face, and run up in the place
I'm a superstar, dick and my chain, glass bezel and bang
80 karats on my pinky and rang
Crews buzz when you speakin my name, cause I'm deep in the game
With top cool thangs and million dollar planes
I'm a maniac, young boy gone, like a young Roy Jones
You ought of my zone and ain't nobody home
In my neighborhood, produce stars, stakes is high
Now we soarin through the spacious skies
Strap yo' body with them K's and ride, the handle is up
Switchin gears, hit the pedal and ride

[Chorus]

[The Game - fading out]
I'm a shining star
And I gotta hit the boulevard in that new Jaguar
Why he move through traffic like that, purple haze
Ralways, the Ojays, the gangsta lean so...

Sometimes I wonder
Man, how long is it gon' be for my people to come out
Man we strugglin, it's hard sometimes, but
Tomorrow's better than yesterday, uhh

[The Game]
I was, born in the slums, struggled from day one
Ray Charles vision, blinded by the light from the sun
No navigation, no sense of direction, darker complexion
made it hard to live; dad, how you fathered your kids?
Stranded on the highway of life, left us out to die, left us out to dry
Shhhh, I'm still here, my mother's cries
Nigga no father figures make harder niggaz
Through the years, went to war with niggaz from what I saw in the picture
Now your son is bigger, 13, but just like you
Moms said I would grow up and be just like you
From what you did to my sister she disliked you
Sixteen, eleventh grade, look at me just like you
Gunnin for riches, runnin hoppin project fences
Street corners to Arizona, how I earn my digits
And I'm far from finished, gamin 'til my coffee diminish
Why pray for the afterlife when mines just beginnin, huh

[The Game]
Only son by our mother, no brothers, only sisters by this one
Every time I kissed one I missed one, let me explain
Eight years before the game, everything came with pain
Watch the fate of my family slain would never see good times a-gayn
Cursed with pain by a nigga with no shame
My father, that have the same name as his father
My grandfather wouldn't believe, he pulled up our family tree
I can see him rollin over in his coffin
I'm left with often, thoughts of how could you molest your daughter
They say that's ten times worse than manslaughter
Man you oughta, be dead in a grave
But it wasn't my call, so instead you sat in a cage
High-powered, two-hundred and fifty pound, six-five coward
Woulda been dead in an hour
Heard you was scared to take a shower, scared of the yard
Your end is near, you shoulda been scared of God, motherfucker

[The Game]
All my niggaz listen, huh
I stay a step ahead of the rest of y'all
Why I gotta keep a vest for y'all
Though I made it dog I still stress for y'all
Funny how my folks think rap money stretch so far
Pray to God my niggaz see through all the checks and the cars
I'm tryin to invest in what's ours, gimme a couple of years dog
I'll turn your tears stress and your scars
into lawn chairs and green grass in your yard
I'm tryin to watch my kids wrestlin yours
Not have to get 'em ready for school and strap a vest on 'em all
I know sometimes it get hard
Keep your head up mami, reach for the stars
Havin a child is like a blessing from God
You just gotta work hard, can't let your youngest star strip in that bar
I feel your pain, this shit is rippin my heart
But where and when do we start, listen to the voice in back of my mind
Can't reach all my women so I attack it in rhyme
I know what you're feelin, I'm wripin ya tears ma, it could happen in time
For now I take your tear strife sufferin, imagine it mine, huh

(feat. Sean T)

(We gangsta daddy!)

[Sean T]
Yuh!
I'm sippin on that 'notiq the color of Hulk man
And the blueberry smoke got a nigga twerkin
You niggaz is perkin - so you doin it big?
You roll deep but when I see you it's just you and your kids
I roll sick, my rims feel like helicopter propellers
And my pockets run deep like a Mercer teller
Haters trip when they see the whip dippin by
The paint on it change like the I-95
I'm just Clyde, without the Bonnie, I got the hollowpoint
heat for you niggaz and the po' for the mamis
Sean Gotti, I'm puttin an end to camraderie
I'm lettin off heat, 'til them eyes get watery
Some gon' ricochet, some gon' hit, y'all gon' get 'em
Fluids gon' disperse out like refreshin club serum
I'm deadly as bite venom but I'm far from a snake
I'll hit you up on your birthday while you cuttin your cake

[Chorus: The Game]
We gangsters nigga; you see the cars, the whips
The chains, the fuckin broads we with
We gangsters nigga; we'll come through your hood
a hundred deep and empty the whole clip
We gangsters nigga; we got guns for the beef
And my niggaz'll put you under the street
We gangsters nigga; so you better watch what you say
'Fore I empty the whole glock in your face

[Sean T]
Streets is tough, but ain't no hopscotch lines on the ground
Just burner shells, and police siren sounds
Niggaz know who I am in the town; it ain't a circus
But it might as well be, cause you know I'ma clown
I'm a terrain boss, I know most niggaz envious dawg
And if a nigga owe me change you better give me it dawg
If you feelin like you wanna leap, make like a frog
You niggaz lame, transparent like Wonder Woman's plane
I'm a stunna in this game, a federal figure
Blowin doj' in the hummer, 50 K on my fingers
I'm like a NASCAR winner poppin Mo' and Bill{?}
D-Squad don't give a fuck about nobody else
I pull a {?} to contain your whole, clique for hours
The end result will probably be, pinewood and flowers
So I'll advise you deduct your QP's and powder
We gangsters and we jackin cowards (yup!)

[Chorus]

[Sean T]
S.T. nigga D-Squad, G.G.D
Don't get it twisted motherfucker yeah we do creep
We ride out thug, shit we don't die
We lay low like mechanics tryin to fix up rides
A lot of cats say I'm sick in the head, when I anger it's on
Poodles gon' be up missin or dead
I chop haters up, like an old-ass sample
Or creep through your village, like Stallone in "Rambo"
I'm like piranhas on red meat, I'm on you niggaz
You afros? Then I guess I got to comb you niggaz
So break bread, when you see me dawg hit the flo'
I'm like a nigga off the X, unpredicta-ble
Imitators always hollerin how gangsta they is
But got about as much courage as the Lion in "The Wiz"
Shit I'm into pullin shanks on you fake Jake cats
Me and my burner hold it down man we go way back

[Chorus]

(feat. Sky)

[19 second instrumental to open]

[Sky]
Who's hot, who's not; I been the hottest thing
on the West, ever since the death of Tupac
Kept my crack in clear capsules with blue tops
And it's still nothin for me to get you shot
You see him? Yup, the same ol' pimp
Sky baller, and ain't nuttin changed but my limp
Natural born player, mine not a lame or a simp
The world is mine, you see my name on a blimp
Stay Dolce Gabbana'd down, play the Bahamas now
Youse a donkey, I'ma piranha clown
I keep thick bread, in the pockets of my sweats
While I'm drivin I get head in the cockpit of my 'Vette
And my game is sharp as a mosquito's needle
As far as the charts, young S be's the Beatles
Purple haze smoke in the urr, blow in the wind
The rims right there when I stop they still go and they spin
I can teach you how to stunt boy, and pop that trunk boy
Them city slickers ain't never been punks boy
So fix your ice grill, and your mean mug
Unless you wanna feel a few M-16 slugs

[Chorus 2X: The Game]
Nigga you got a blunt then put it in the air
Nigga you got a gun then put it in the air
Nigga you from a gang then put in in the air
Play with Killa Cali if you want, muh'fuckers

[The Game]
I ain't got no time for fake ones, so don't think for a second
I won't pull this 45 and put your stomach where your neck is
If I tell you kiss the sky better respect it
Or get yo' ass hog-tied, butt-ass naked
I'm doin this for Eazy, like it or not
I wouldn't even be rappin if Eric Wright wouldn'ta dropped
I love this shit, I work and I'm good
I ain't on corner fuckers but I'm still in the hood
I'm poised to go platinum, that's what the magazines sayin
Fuck The Source, I got my own magazines man
I call her Shirley, she got a 32 round clip
And she love hangin out wit'chu girlies
I'm like them Philly nigs that come through "Early"
Through your front door without knockin like Mr. Furley
It's just me, you and the semi - "Three's Company"
You want the crown, you be U.G.K. like Bun B

[Chorus]

[Sky]
I rock jewels, cop tools, I will not lose
A million miles a minute is how my block moves
I stay in the fast lane, never fakin, cheddar chasin
I'm in the game for the cash mayne
And bitches play this in they Benzes, Jeeps and G.O.'s
They say I'm arrogant and got a big ego
But they still love to swallow me up
And every hotel suite, they wanna follow me up
But I ain't gon' put my dick in for free, nah ma
You want the kid then you gotta pay this pimpin a fee
And ain't no champagne left, so let's toast 'gnac
Sky baller and Game 'bout to bring the West coast back
I'm on that get dough shit, that Frank War{?} pimpin that ho shit
In Cali smokin that 'dro shit
I still push fishscale, and china white
A lil' nigga with a big gun and I ain't tryin to fight

[Chorus]

[No lyrics]

(INTRO)
My mama took me to Sam Goody's
I wanted to buy a 50 Cent CD
I took that shit home
That shit was wack like a muthafucka
Don't fuck with Game

I like 50 Cent
He reminds me Spongebob
And Tony Yayo is Blues Clues
And Lloyd Banks is Dora the Explorer
They're my friends
Psyche

I went down one of them Bodaga shits right there in Harlem
Got me a bootleg Lloyd Banks and Young Buck CD
Took that shit home, put it in my boom box
Thought I was bout to be on some radio Raheim shit
Man that shit sound like some Vanessa Williams '88
I mean Olivia cute but they say that bitch a man
So this Black Wallstreet for life now
GGG-UNOT!

(The Game)
300 Bars and Runnin
Just loan me your ears for 15 minutes
Walk with me

Here the breakdown, pass the doja, .45 in the holster
Hollow tips'll fold 'em, them niggaz they toy soldiers
Oh, that boy colder than Hova unless he sober
Like I'm the president, but this ain't the takeover
Now, there's the speaker, bring your ears a little closer
Before you call this a diss, and you make Hova pissed
Why would I wanna do that? When I'm just the new cat
That was taught if a nigga take shots to shoot back
Defending his yard, yeah standing his ground
I'm saying if you gonna retire, then hand me the crown
Nah, let Bleek do it, then throw him a concert in Madison square
Watch everybody sleep through it
We can go bar for bar, I'll let the lines speak to 'em
What they say? Bleek is over let Chris and Neef do it
They say the wrong thing, I'ma smack 'em silly
What you thought? Them was the only niggaz that rapped in Philly?
See them niggaz with the soonies leave you wrapped in Philly
Then dash in groups like Beanie Mac in Philly
said Curtis Jack in Philly
Make a U-turn, I gotta go back to Philly
I forgot my cheese steak, that's what I told the cops
So they wouldn't get the dogs start searching for the glock
And I can't forget, B.I.G. got murdered by the cops
Even I was Ready To Die, when I heard that he was shot
What's beef? Beef is when I murk you on the spot
Labels signing many things, still searching for they Pac
I put purple on the block
So I don't feel threatened when Ludacris say he coming for the #1 spot
Ask 50, it get lonely on top
You can hate me or love me, but now the cops the only homies he got
When it's beef we eat, we win, but we ain't lonely we pop
You sell records but a GGG-u not!
Acting big on the radio, to me you not
You can ask Mr. CCC who hot
Tony Yayo I bet 10 G's you flop
Run up on that new 300 C you got
Stop hoping I fall, hope the bleeding stop
And I hope you black out before you see the cops
I ain't hot top for colors, I'm from Cedar Block
So I got my hot tops that make your breathing stop
I'm a gangsta slash rapper, check your CD shop
I'm like Elvis in there, they can't believe you dropped
Now I'm moving on up to George and Weezy's spot
I picked up where my homeboy Eazy stopped
I saw the west coast, put the shit on my back
Sprayed Aftermath on it, then loosened the strap
It get hot in here, let Lucifer rap
Bring hell to niggaz when Dre producing a track
Take it to the streets, put the duece duece to your hat
Then call up the pigs, tell them the rooster's back
Call Jadakiss, tell him that duke is back
I'm still by your side, no matter who comes strapped
Fuck Lloyd Banks, it ain't about who can rap
It's about when the clap, is rufus back
I see what you thinkin, you want me to die, is that so?
Now you left leaning back, thanks to Fat Joe
We got reservations in heaven, you ready? Let's go
Drop them off, then the sound like Esko
I'm a say if me and Dre talk
All Nas said back was he had a
Now that's the eulogy, beef is kinda foolish see
Niggaz running their mouth about what the fuck they gon' do to me
But quit the yapping before I proceed to clapping
And you gon' see the captain with plans of getting me captured
Even behind bars, I'm still gon' shine
I'm 10 years younger than Yayo, I get out, I'm fine
Then I go right back, nigga I pop mines
How you gon' drop Olivia, you only drop dimes
I knew you changed, when you started sleeping in that vest dog
I don't need 50 Cent, my niggaz make collect calls
1-800-split a faggot nigga wig
He got G-Unit wings, throw them off the Queens Bridge
Now your career is over, career is over
We in QB, banging CNN in the rover
T-O-N-Y, that's the phony NORE
You ain't the talk of New York, your sixteens is boring
Take that shit off , go back to PC
And tell 50 Cent you want a copy of Beef 3
I'm airing their ass out on DVD
You wanna rhyme like Lloyd Banks repeat after me
I'm a G-Unit toy soldier
On Sesame street doing voice overs
Bitch ass nigga need a rhyme dictionary, to rehearse his lines
Sound like Oscar the Grouch, with them nursery rhymes
We was in the studio, when I first got signed
He got stuck, he called 50 tryna borrow some lines
That's the wrong nigga, when you need help with your rhymes
All he gon' tell you is say G-Unit one more time
Got mad cuz I ain't wanna make your beef mine
You got lucky with Ja, why you aint go at Shyne?
He freestyled from the pen, that's just the fact
Said he'd put you with your mom, and you ain't fucked with that
Then you lied about your pops, he ain't never bust no cap
Like Father, Like Son, go ask Busta that
I knew from the beginning I couldn't trust those cats
I'd kill 'em all, if I could bring Justo back
The underground is mine, I treat it like home
It's the reason niggaz saying my name like Mike Jones
The underground is mine, I treat it like home
It's the reason niggaz saying my name like Mike Jones
The underground is mine, I treat it like home
It's the reason niggaz saying my name like Mike Jones
I said
The underground is mine, I treat it like home
It's the reason niggaz saying my name like Mike Jones
And I'm far from Houston but you can chop it and screw it
Do whatever to it, but it in the store the shit moving
Gave 'em a hundred bars, they ain't think I could do it
Came with two hundred, nigga this is more than music
Even Dre knew it, that boy hot like summer
Both in the dirt, 300 Bars and Runnin
And I beef with any nigga, say my name muthafuck I'm gunnin'
You can put it on skee if you want it
I'll air you out on Drama King, Mike, or Clue
And watch them shits sell out like a Air Jordon shoe
I told Funk Flex when I catch the nigga Whoo Kid
We gon' see if he know how to DJ with bruised ribs
Don't hit me on the sidekick asking what you did
Get a gun or ask 50's police to use his
Cuz Bloods gonna get ya
Bloods, Bloods gonna get ya for that Shadyville chain
That 380 spill brains, when I pop shots
Outside NY, in front of hip-hop cops
Or broad day in L.A., I'ma tell Em and Dre
This nigga bootlegging my music, ain't nothing for him to say
Took me off my own songs, then put it on his tapes
So I'ma take him out his house, put the beam on his face
Drop him off at Terror Squad, let him scream for the jakes
Cuz when you fucking with Jayceon, you can bleed in the lake
For caking off niggaz on them CD's and tapes
Ask them to scratch a record, you will see he fake
If 50 was Puffy, you'd run and go get him a cheese cake
Take the DJ off your name, Mr. Instant replay
Not the instant replay
I mean the machine that G-Unit use every time 50 on stage singing like
Bitches only feel your shit just a lil bit
Niggaz only feel your shit just a lil bit
On my album 50 helped me just a lil bit
Only on two songs, now back to some killer shit
My clips bananas, I kill a gorilla quick
Beating on your chest, I see to your death, yep
Tell Ecko to make him a suit
Tell Reebock to make him some boots
Get him a head band, to cover the holes in his head
He a dead man for thinking he can walk through muddy waters like Redman
Banks blacked out and let the gun blam without a M-E-T-H-O-D Man
So the lieutenant gotta ask for his strings
Take my advice, never wear air max for the
Unless you one of the Bloods, or a Latin king
Cuz if your left with the Aryans your ass will sting
And your cell mate is a 25 to lifer
They will stab you then then fuck you on Rikers
And Life Goes On
Now back to the coward of the hour who lied and said he write my songs
He told Vibe Dre was gonna leave me on the shelf
So he gave me all his hits, you should've kept them for yourself
Nigga stop acting tough before I stand over you
Show you how The Documentary live on top of The Massacre
Make a move I'm blasting your ass to the last one
Ten shots from the Mack empty the rest in the passenger
Fase yelling thats enough, let the coroner bag him up
Throw in Makaveli and lift the doors on the Maganum
Gun smoking, Fase think I'm locin' backing up
Reverse the '05 hurse on 41st and traffic, what
Hip-Hop cops on my left, but I pass 'em up
The Dodge got a hemmy in it, Game got a Remy in 'em
In and out of lanes like a New York cab
I miss the Old King that New York had
Who's this fake nigga, on pictures with the Jake nigga?
Got his crew starving cuz he aint the whole cake, nigga
He ain't Nas, ain't B.I.G., ain't Jigga
If he ain't Cube or Pac then who you got?
We getting tired of you talkin about who you shot
I'll use another six bars to tell you who you not
You ain't 50 Cent, he went out like a gangsta
You went out with Vivica, three months after wanksta
Get Rich or Die Tryin, we thought you was hot
Now the same nigga wanna take us to the Candy Shop
C'mon man, what happened to the thug?
Now you could find in the club, him and Lloyd Banks hugging
Nigga got mad when The Game start buzzing
So fuck making friends now I'm into throwing slugs
Olivia talking about we a family, Game had to go
Nigga I'll smack that ho like I'm Jackie-O
Cuz I don't wanna be cool, I don't wanna be you
I don't wanna shake hands, or wear your G-Unit shoes
Don't want you on my hooks, don't wanna be in your group
Just wanna sit here and wait
To be gone, so I can head back to the block
Fresh white Nike airs and the matching socks fitted
Pull the brim low, if they don't get it
Bentley Coup on gold daytons, I was the first one with it
Four times platinum, I done been there and did it
Came in the game and shitted, then wiped my ass with it
They say the Lord givth, if Lord take it away
So I build a house on top of Hip-Hop, I'll wait for the day
Niggaz hating on me, they don't want Jayceon to play
And the DA waiting on Jayceon to make a mistake
So they can put me in the SWAT car and lock me away
Give me a odd job in the pen for minimum pay
Let me out so I can drive down criminal way
Pushing the rock, nah this ain't no subliminal Jay
The summer too hot, and I want the winter to stay
Cuz I'm a cold nigga when I put the pen to the page
Similar to them shells going into my gauge
I hand 'em off to Dre, he turned them into granades
And Just Blaze, cuz the boy got game
Like I close my eyes, and woke up in a Roc chain
Now back to reality, my gun and my vest
And if diamonds are forever, then I'm Kanye West
Take a look at my chest, a hundred thou wet Jacob
Whole crew got chains, a hundred thou can't break 'em
And the flow is hot like that wit Satan
And the only thing I got spinning is Daytons
The hotter I get the more willing to snake 'em
So soon as the beat drop, watch where I take 'em
Compton Swap meet, to get me some All-Stars
When Game in the house, they call
Cuz they heard about what went on in D.C.
Heard about Hot 97, my beef with 50
Now tell me do he got a conscience?
I think not, cuz if he did I wouldn't be involved in this nonsense
Wouldn't be in Harlem, wouldn't be at this conference
I'd rather be pushing rock, like Samantha Ronson
50 whispered in my ear, like we still bonding
We ain't friends, I'm just acting like Charles Bronson
Middle finger in the air, one hand on my Johnson
Hip-Hop police on me like I'm the convict
What happened to the old school? I thought it was rhyming
Doug E. Fresh and Dana Day on the corner like Common
Now that ain't common, it's more like Top Ramen
The flow is news, I throw it up like vomit
And I still shine like diamonds
They kicked me out of G-Unit and I rebounded like Rodman
It's still Aftermath, two feet in the pentition
I be mad, I ain't, I'm supposed to stop I can't because
I'm in the hood politican, Impala liftin'
And I keep a black .45 on the side of my prada denim
Chip on my shoulder like I'm fresh outta prison
Dollar vision, blow a hundred thou like my wallet missing
Then re-up like kid before the d-cup
Continuously getting money with my feet up
Chasing the throne, here my black Air Force
I said fuck Benzino and got the cover of The Source
Feel me? If not then I guess you gotta kill me
But you ain't gon' do that so muthafucka move back
While I do B.I.G. and 'Pac impersonations on two tracks
When I wake the dead, everybody remove hats
We miss ya'll, can I get a hand clap?
Now back to rap, why I gotta stay strapped?
On that murder T-I-P, kill you ASAP
They won't know which hole to patch up, when the clap
I tried to spare you Young Buck, now it's time for payback
It go, how you from Cashville but you ain't got no cash nigga?
Say my name now that's your fucking ass nigga
Kept your mouth shut and I gave you a pass nigga
Now I gotta lay you down like the last nigga
Buck, buck, buck from my AK-47
This nigga playing with his life, I might have to put him in heaven
Tryna play the game, talking shit up on the stereo
Prepare for burial, it's when I'm reincarnating Harry-O
And you don't want that David cuz you love your life
Get my Vibe, when it's war he pull out butter knifes
Muthafucka I'ma show you who the gangsta
All you do is Murder Inc., now who the wanksta?
When Suge had you, you were stranded on Tha Row
Juve left you for dead and went back to the NO
50 heard you on the tour bus and felt your little flow
Then he made you temporary replacement for Yayo
You a bitch, and that's hard to swallow
And you got robbed for your spinning G-Unit chain in Chicago
I call my nigga Jojo to get it back
He had the shit in his hands, and you ain't had the ten stacks
Picture that, I thought we was G-Unit
Then you ran and told 50 that I did that shit
Ask C-Murder, the boy ain't hard to find
I told Monica when I catch him The Boy is Mine
Take one shot of Brandy and pop
Watch his panties drop, when I run inside the Candy Shop
Fuck you, 50, Banks, Yayo, and the cops
And Olivia, I mean for a man she hot
Now I'm running out of breath, like I just beat boxed
Got 20 bars to go, lay it down like sheet rock
Don't worry about the flow, the boy know he hot
Hurricanes in store November, nigga fuck Reebocks
I'm fly like a Hummingbird on a tree top
The new Hov, the new B.I.G., the new 'Pac, I need three spots
280 in, ain't no getting me back
I'm yelling fuck the world, on my victory lap
Remember first it was Buddens, then it was Bleek
Now it's whoever muthafucka, yeah, who want beef?
Now whenever muthafucka, who wanna see me?
In the coffin, body exhausted, resting in peace
You don't want war nigga, you want peace
So give 'em the peace, capiche (sp?)
Let 'em rest in peace
From west to east the flow is outdatable, irreplacable
Lyrical homicide, hell is hot, I'm boxing with Satan
And I slipped 'em the ace, you cannot replace 'em
If Eazy ever decide to return, I remain Jayceon
A king in the making, and the throne is for the taking
So I climb the mountain top and put my stake in
Got the weight of the world on my shoulder
Not a nigga nor a hoodrat bitch can stop me from taking it over
This is crack music, go get the baking soda
300 Bars and Runnin, nigga the wait is over
I'm gone

(feat. Get Low, JT)

[JT]
Get Low Records motherfucker
Bringin the best to the table
Bluechip, Nina B, {?}, what it is
JT Get Low motherfucker that's what it is motherfucker
Yeah, who fuckin with us nigga
Now (what goes around comes around)
I'm puttin this clique up nigga against all you niggaz
Now get it right

[Verse One: Bluechip]
Hey yo, this is where I see me in this game
Benz Coupe, Maserati, plus I got your bitch all in the Range
And y'all niggaz ain't gon' do shit, soon as your crew spit
My tool spit, metal to your side, watch you lose hips
And I ain't want to take it there but fuck it we can bang
My Cali headbusters'll show you how to throw them things
I'm too connected like John Gotti and Nino
For a small fee they find your body wreakin out in Reno
I know the niggaz that sell weight, and niggaz that stick the niggaz
that sell weight, hammer close behind me like when you tailgate
I know you a snitch, I can see it in your eyes
Shackled up, D.O.C.'s, all my niggaz on that ride
You can, stunt if you wanna, Chip is a gunner
Been reignin/rainin since ninety-six now it's time for the thunder

[Verse Two: Nina B]
In your mind you can blame me but open your mouth and name me
I'm runnin you out of office you're softer than Bush and Cheney
Go 'head, and try to play me I do you like I was Amy Fisher
Smokin a Swisher like I wish a bitch would
Listen and use your vision cause livin in this - hood
And sinnin in your division you think it's all - good
Got niggaz on (Death Row) and it ain't about Suge
Niggaz that stay home they scared to come out shook
Mothers with five kids and all of 'em got took
It's right in these niggaz face, but they just will not look
I'm tired, of the B.S. I'm cheatin {?} some rejects
Even though we make the best of what little respect, we get
This is the life, that was given to me
A rich-ass bitch that's what I'm fittin to be
Brooklyn to Bangkok I'm beggin to be
And don't nobody write, what I'm spittin but me
Nina B

[Chorus: JT]
We 'bout to blow this bitch
Niggaz work hard in the game so they notice this, what
We 'bout to blow this bitch
Niggaz work hard in the game so they notice this, what
Underground with it, poppin collars now
Bust yo' shit nigga, put them guns down
Put yo' knuckles up, catch you slippin dawg
That's how we do it independent now we 'bout to ball

[Verse Three]
For years niggaz sold me dreams that got me gassed
Made me want to get revenge or get the hockey mask
Got beef? Yo the burner's in the lobby stashed
Get your crew if you want, all them niggaz is probably ass
I take the long way, fuck takin the shortcut
Now we got corporate sponsorships wrappin our tour bus
A quick 32, yo them shits is like warmups
It ain't coincidental in the hood we was born tough
You chump or get chumped, punk or get punked
Save your lil' craps homey, fuck it get drunk
Was one at the top, but now I'm back at the bottom
Most 'em hate to spit with me cause when I rap I surprise 'em
Shit is real, that's why I stay strapped with a condom
I keep 31 flavors just like Baskin & Robbins
I'm here now, y'all supposed to be stressed, scared to death
that you gonna be next, record labels, promote the rejects
While starvin artists is closest to sets
And certain niggaz duckin me because they owe me a check
I spit more heat, than a bowl of chili, y'all niggaz know the deally
So turn the music up and roll a Philly

[Verse Four: JT]
Yeah, roll the Philly or Swisher Sweet
And I ain't trippin while you niggaz just stand on your feet
Figgaro done walked in the building, it's time to expand
Comin with hundreds of grands and hundreds of plans
You see this Black Wall Street is for the po' broke and hongry
None of my niggaz on the corner never be lonely
Stuck in the gutter mayne, coke packs like Tony
Bricks and pounds of weed half the city owe me
My shipment too big, frontin out the homies
I ain't even trippin mayne my pockets never lonely
Benjamin Franklins and Grants stick together like
Boys in tough weather makin noise forever, ahhhh

Yeah mayne, it's real shit nigga and we independent nigga
Fuck what'chu heard dawg, independent is where the money is at nigga
Fuck all your major labels nigga, that's what it is
JT the Bigga Figga, Nina B [fades out]

(feat. JT)

[The Game]
Niggaz don't really want it, just talkin out the side of they neck
How many gangsters you know, ain't scared of death
That's why I, ride with tecs, soon as I pull 'em out
breathe easy nigga they tryin to get them bullets out
It was all good a week ago, you was callin shots in the hood
Bitch now you so {?} the hood
Used to be a gang leader, now your gang need ya
But no more rocks or dope spots in the hood
Ghost town, niggaz won't even walk in your hood
I want respect like when niggaz is talkin to Suge
You cats gon' get with that, or get with the +Mac+
And I ain't talkin 'bout +Beans+, talkin 'bout this gat
The kid still a hundred miles and runnin
Niggaz smoke 10 boxes of Newports, when they know I'm comin
And fuck MTV, I live in +The Real World+
Call my guns R. Kelly, they'll touch your lil' girl, cause

[Chorus 2X: JT]
Layin with dogs, you gon' wake up with fleas
Fuckin with rats, you'll never get yo' cheese
You know J cats, like to sell you dreams
And a snake gon' scheme (and a killa will do anything)

[JT]
It's a done deal, Seth's back, makin it hot
No questions, I'm takin my spot
Project walls, hoods and blocks, Get Low, we hard to stop
JT, and the Game is hot
It's so necessary, these dudes are so scary
When I cruise through Bentley Coupe that's cherry
Tailored suits and gators, man, laughin at these haters
Man, show me the money then, pay me man
It's a new day, same team, I'm still the ghost
Big crib, jet skis and boats, listen close take notes
Mink coats and diamond clusters
West coast we nothin but hustlers
We grimy and gritty, cool like dat, old school fools
Willy Ness throwbacks, we send tricks to the nearest track
Who you know that's as real as that?
I pimp this game like Goldie the Mac, holla back

[Chorus]

[No lyrics]