| Yo, it’s that Brooklyn shit!
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| Y’all niggas ready? |
| NAAAAAAAH!
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| Y’all ready? |
| YEEEAH!
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| Yo, oh shit
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| Runnin game on real
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| A nigga might find it hard walkin alone in a graveyard
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| Runnin game on bail
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| And if ya can’t compete I’ll leave ya 6 Feet Deep, nigga!
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| Yo, I be the Pied Piper, enlightener, holy cipher
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| Watch the God strike like a viper
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| Potential energy pumps the mainstream
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| Warn a nigga, crazy enough to return the dust
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| My chrome crushed the image, considered it a mess
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| Jump the C.O., bust the captain, and hop the fence
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| Did manuveur like a cougar, usin night vision
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| Interrogate intruders, rest, puff my Buddha
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| The grand child, father of mad style
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| Battle Gods on file, exiled since I lost the trial
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| Behold, control niggas like croaks, insert dats
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| Death blow, aim and hit straight to the heart
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| It’s a strong wind, niggas is thin as tin strips
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| Immeasureable wealth, campaignin that wack shit
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| The barriers ready, engaged lock finder
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| Fox 1, launch the sidewinder
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| Gothic hip-hop break, I blast microscopic bars
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| Til it ends communication, only seen through Allah
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| God body, search Darth Khadafi, killa of Nazis
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| Take heads like Jake DiViassi
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| Clips of snake venom, toos rock, instructor, destruct
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| Just burnt from lyrical reflux
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| Tramp through decisions, battlin and collisions
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| High speed, still a nigga tryin to breathe, what nigga?
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| I come with the Killa Arm-Leg-a-Leg-a-Arm-Head
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| Ready with the bomb threat, fuck all of the calm shit
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| Waitin til the bomb hits, make a nigga vomit
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| Cuz he gave it all when preparin to respond wit
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| My correspondece, only young foes fall as soldiers in the Cold War
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| Powered by solar
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| Always in the trench, intense until I dent
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| The armour of the Devil brigade, slugs are spent
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| And dark rebels invade your tent, with the intent
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| To leave your body bent, I let the shotty vent
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| To lay your chest, penetrate your vest
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| Look for your family traits, as you defecate
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| You’re dyin in the stench, nothin can prevent
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| A violent takeover, the modern J. Hova
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| Cannot be tempted by no type payola
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| Colder than the Polar, your bling-bling is over
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| Fuck all you fake Costra Nostras
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| Grym is a real street soldier, put you in a deep coma
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| Your weak streak is over, finito
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| I sting like 10 million mosquitoes with hypodermic needles |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Running Game on Real, artist - Gravediggaz. Album song Nightmare in A-Minor, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп