|
A little bit of game is all it takes |
|
A little bit of game goes a long long way [Verse 1] |
|
Cuddie I don't sleep much, 'cause when |
|
I close my eyes |
|
I hear cries from my potna's who lost they lives |
|
Visions of bloody brutality's reality |
|
Gotta stay focused and hope it don't affect my salary |
|
Them calories, they keep my pockets fat, |
|
I got to stack a grip |
|
Try not to trip, and keep them gold diggers off my dick |
|
I'm gettin' sick 'cause |
|
I drink 24-7 |
|
The way I'm livin' now, if |
|
I die, there's no heaven |
|
Gotta help my potnas in the pen 'cause they livin' broke |
|
This ain't no joke, on parole and |
|
I can't smoke |
|
No sticky indo, roll down the window ' |
|
Cause if I breathe[? ] the task is back [? ] like |
|
Nintendo Gotta play the game like a professional |
|
If you ain't having money |
|
I got to let you go |
|
I need to let you know the rules before you [? ] |
|
Rule number one potna, never should you pimpatrate |
|
I spit this pimpin' straight and cut no addatives |
|
Just nouns and adjectives, how mad you get don't mattter bitch |
|
I'm a player so |
|
I serve the game |
|
Maintain campaign, and have thangs [Chorus x2] [Verse 2] |
|
Back in '92 |
|
I was drowned in them big cases |
|
But now it's '97 and |
|
I'm counting them big faces |
|
I switched places with them sardines and squares |
|
The [? ] fillet mignon, and garlic bread |
|
A hard head, big heart, and gorilla nuts |
|
Got me mobbin' thru the bay like |
|
I don't give a fuck |
|
I'm whipped, equipped, and stay dipped in butter sauce |
|
Pill if shes real, no scrill |
|
I cut her off ' |
|
Cause fine ass bitches with the empty bank book |
|
Is worse than them ugly muthafuckas who can't cook |
|
My game cooked for five years in the feds |
|
Now it's time for these game hungry niggas to get fed |
|
I get bread, so them suckas down me |
|
Smile in my face but clown me when they not around me |
|
Talk down on my every move, but |
|
I could'ntgive a damn |
|
Playas do what they want, and suckas do what they can [Chorus x2] [Verse 3] 7-5-70, my |
|
DOB, uhh And |
|
I've been breakin' hoes since '83, what? |
|
Money makers manual, handle my business discretly |
|
Don't give my home phone number out, beep me ' |
|
Cause ain't no tellin' who be tellin', or who they tell |
|
And plus I heard that they be sellin' kinfolk the yayo |
|
Boy get your mail, don't act like your lil sista |
|
If you lackin' in this mackin' boy |
|
I bet you fist her |
|
Get some get right as |
|
I come tight to this |
|
Doo Doo Dumb |
|
Track, that cat |
|
K-Lou, knew how to come |
|
With Mac Dre, that 3 |
|
C veteran |
|
More game than |
|
March Madness, and dope as exederin |
|
Hit big licks, wouldn't pull no small capers |
|
I'm a be a dog and stay up like wall paper |
|
Look at these break bitches like they stank |
|
Collect my bank and stay sharp as a shank [Chorus] |
