- The Game Put It in the Air 歌詞
- The Game
- (feat. Sky)
(19 second instrumental to open)
(Sky)
Whos hot, whos 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 its still nothin for me to get you shot
You see him? Yup, the same ol pimp
Sky baller, and aint 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 Gabbanad down, play the Bahamas now
Youse a donkey, Ima piranha clown
I keep thick bread, in the pockets of my sweats
While Im drivin I get head in the cockpit of my Vette
And my game is sharp as a mosquitos needle
As far as the charts, young S bes 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 aint 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, muhfuckers
(The Game)
I aint got no time for fake ones, so dont think for a second
I wont 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
Im doin this for Eazy, like it or not
I wouldnt even be rappin if Eric Wright wouldnta dropped
I love this shit, I work and Im good
I aint on corner fuckers but Im still in the hood
Im poised to go platinum, thats 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 witchu girlies
Im like them Philly nigs that come through 'Early'
Through your front door without knockin like Mr. Furley
Its just me, you and the semi - 'Threes 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
Im in the game for the cash mayne
And bitches play this in they Benzes, Jeeps and G.O.s
They say Im 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 aint gon put my dick in for free, nah ma
You want the kid then you gotta pay this pimpin a fee
And aint no champagne left, so lets toast gnac
Sky baller and Game bout to bring the West coast back
Im 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 aint tryin to fight
(Chorus)
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