Lyrics The Game - Jamal

The Game

Man 1 — You got the shit?
Man 2 — What?
fuck you mean do I got the shit, nigga?
the fuck
Man 1 — Cmon, man
Man 2 — Think I’m just comin' here to bullshit?
Man 1 — Hey man, whassup man, why you gotta get all hostile n shit?
Man 2 — What?
Nigga what?
why the fuck I gotta get hostile, nigga?
Nigga is you-what?
Nigga WHAT?
In the Ghetto
I knew this wild nigga named Slim (?)
Lived his life as a sin
And packed a black Mac-10
Wore a lot of Je-wels
To show he had not
Lost his money a lot
Cross Slim (?), you get shot
A house on the hill
Where he stashed all his bills
Freak bitches on the weekends
With niggas that kill
Discuss keys at the table with 'bangers
Head-hangers
Their life before coke
That made them win dough
Now they put their work on out-of-towner drug lords
To make 'em feel their manhood
And get the things they couldn’t afford
Peep, this shit is hella
Listen to what I tell ya'
Journey with some real ghetto dwellers
I’m just, chillin' on the block
With the Glock cocked
And I got it locked
Now it’s my dope spot
The plot, was like, 3 on the dot
Get the product, duck
I’m leavin they stash spot knocked
(Put 'em up!)
Get the keys, use the gangster bitch for bait
She ran up on em screamin'
I had the infrared beamin'
And I don’t hesitate
(Why?)
It’s time to regulate
(uh-huh)
I cock back, let off three from the Tec then I break
Back to my rest
And I ain’t throw away my gun
I change clothes
In case somebody saw what I wore
When I tore that lame’s ass out the frame
Never will I come dumb
I’m just young to The Game
The same day
I was supposed to make dough
Y’know
Cut it up in slabs of Oz (?) and roll them hoes
No hesitation gots no time to get done up
The doper MY shit, the bigger MY come-up
What must I do about the envy’ing some
(Nothin')
They won’t last while I shine like the Sun
Keepin the cops all clocked
Cos the block is locked
I got a quarter-mill stack
Prayin not to get popped
Ooh it’s hot!
Niggas get mobbed, they try to stop
The clientele is deep
With powders and ready rocks with blue tops
Drop-tops and the Glock cocked
Cos what go around come around
In the city that’s hot
Spittin my man Pac (?)
On the steady block
With pushers on each corner
Went from bottom-rock to top
Killa friends that’ll rob for your rings and watch
Angel Dust to boost the high up a notch
Now times has changed
Gettin real scary
Last week I identified five in the obituaries
Little niggas want it all and enticed
To be precise — «Fuck rhymin'»
A Tec and shoot dice to be nice
Kill a nigga for the Tommy Hilfiger
Or the Polo
Shootin' game at the neighborhood Ho’s
«You better slow down»
My old head said
«You think you the baddest thing «I couldn’t turn back
(Why Not?)
No gettin out
Once I’m in it then I’m in it for life
And as it turns out
I caught that body
The cops is on scout
I can’t trust my clout
I gotta lay-low down south
I reminisce watchin' bitches suck a bone
Sick mind sittin' on a settee
So I phone home
During my rap I heard my Fam got jammed on the turf
Possession of a gram and a hammer
I hope he don’t snitch in the slammer
I be just
Coolin with my niggas on the block
Smokin weed by the cess spot
And it don’t stop
I be just
(Hahahahahahahaa
As we take ya’ll black funky asses on another journey
To the dark side
Aww shit
Jamal represents in this motherfucker
Blowin your brains on different terrains
Comin straight out of Philly as we take the Chocolate City
Onto another Era
(?) All day
All night long as we drop it to the One, Two
This is Doctor Travis, signing off
Trick bitches)