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(feat. Sky) |
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(19 second instrumental to open) |
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(Sky) |
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Who's hot, who's not; I been the hottest thing |
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On the West, ever since the death of Tupac |
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Kept my crack in clear capsules with blue tops |
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And it's still nothin for me to get you shot |
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You see him? Yup, the same ol' pimp |
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Sky baller, and ain't nuttin changed but my limp |
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Natural born player, mine not a lame or a simp |
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The world is mine, you see my name on a blimp |
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Stay Dolce Gabbana'd down, play the Bahamas now |
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Youse a donkey, I'ma piranha clown |
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I keep thick bread, in the pockets of my sweats |
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While I'm drivin I get head in the cockpit of my 'Vette |
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And my game is sharp as a mosquito's needle |
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As far as the charts, young S be's the Beatles |
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Purple haze smoke in the urr, blow in the wind |
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The rims right there when I stop they still go and they spin |
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I can teach you how to stunt boy, and pop that trunk boy |
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Them city slickers ain't never been punks boy |
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So fix your ice grill, and your mean mug |
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Unless you wanna feel a few M-16 slugs |
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(Chorus 2X: The Game) |
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Nigga you got a blunt then put it in the air |
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Nigga you got a gun then put it in the air |
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Nigga you from a gang then put in in the air |
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Play with Killa Cali if you want, muh'fuckers |
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(The Game) |
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I ain't got no time for fake ones, so don't think for a second |
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I won't pull this 45 and put your stomach where your neck is |
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If I tell you kiss the sky better respect it |
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Or get yo' ass hog-tied, butt-ass naked |
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I'm doin this for Eazy, like it or not |
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I wouldn't even be rappin if Eric Wright wouldn'ta dropped |
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I love this shit, I work and I'm good |
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I ain't on corner fuckers but I'm still in the hood |
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I'm poised to go platinum, that's what the magazines sayin |
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Fuck The Source, I got my own magazines man |
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I call her Shirley, she got a 32 round clip |
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And she love hangin out wit'chu girlies |
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I'm like them Philly nigs that come through "Early" |
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Through your front door without knockin like Mr. Furley |
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It's just me, you and the semi - "Three's Company" |
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You want the crown, you be U.G.K. like Bun B |
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(Chorus) |
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(Sky) |
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I rock jewels, cop tools, I will not lose |
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A million miles a minute is how my block moves |
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I stay in the fast lane, never fakin, cheddar chasin |
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I'm in the game for the cash mayne |
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And bitches play this in they Benzes, Jeeps and G.O.'s |
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They say I'm arrogant and got a big ego |
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But they still love to swallow me up |
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And every hotel suite, they wanna follow me up |
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But I ain't gon' put my dick in for free, nah ma |
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You want the kid then you gotta pay this pimpin a fee |
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And ain't no champagne left, so let's toast 'gnac |
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Sky baller and Game 'bout to bring the West coast back |
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I'm on that get dough shit, that Frank War{?} pimpin that ho shit |
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In Cali smokin that 'dro shit |
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I still push fishscale, and china white |
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A lil' nigga with a big gun and I ain't tryin to fight |
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(Chorus) |
