Текст (слова) песни: The Game f Bluechip, JT - Blacksox

 
[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]
 

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