Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Learn the Game , by - Lord SuperbRelease date: 15.10.2018
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Learn the Game |
| We going through a cycle |
| That’s all, you going through a spin circle right now |
| Yeah… yo… yeah… yo… yeah… yo… yo, yo… |
| Ain’t no honor amongst blunts and get high, the real’ll let the clip fly |
| Don’t say a word, nigga gon' get got |
| Jail stories from the sixties, enlighten us to move richly |
| Let’s break a brick down, this is the shit, G |
| Quarter water money add up, next thing you know |
| My niggas bagging up, garbage bags and shit, imagine us |
| Bank robbers and shit, gangstas that ain’t involved with shit |
| Can’t even arg', dick, bring an armed quick |
| Realer nigga let go, his neck blow, son be intimidated |
| Start your hating, I’m formulating |
| Rum at the glass table, I’m all Nike’d down, glass bangles |
| One rock, that’s flashy on the ankles |
| Benz stations and X5's races, sit Immobilize paper |
| Shake down Vegas and own acres |
| Large sum of this change, Allah bought to me with a blue range |
| A crew that be spitting them things |
| I’m a hydro plane when I rhyme, let’s do it for the crew lines |
| No radio, faggot, reveal a new shine |
| It’s old money, mines used to stealing |
| Run up in bank trucks, start peeling and jailing, holding buildings |
| Point cat, nigga gon' die for that, make a casket round |
| Won’t get found, read about your raps |
| Yo, a wiseman once said, before you play the game, learn to move |
| It’s a game of life, learn the rules |
| Either you live or die, bust your heater |
| But respect you leader, never bite the hand that feeds you |
| The DJs? |
| That thought I was foul |
| Pardon me, I was just too dusted to smile |
| Don’t think I’m fronting, when I rock my mustard crocodile |
| That’s my style, my whole crew, Penal Moscow |
| You UFO’s acting like ya’ll beyond we |
| You can get smoked like a jar of neon weed |
| Ain’t none of ya’ll flakey lasts beyond me |
| I couldn’t be a rapper, Perb was a don in the streets |
| While you, busting your brain, I’m dawning the beads |
| I fuck with RZA, you better honor my beats |
| I’m very small, so honor my heat |
| My whole famil' ill, even my aunt’s in the street |
| Laundry crack money, spend 48 track money |
| Amp ya dap money, bulletproof sound mic money |
| Fuck paper, ya’ll niggas kite hungry |
| FBI, C.O., and P.O. |
| friendly |
| Ya’ll serve a cop Remy, turn the music up loud and |
| Rae’s my gun, shoot 'em down |
| Look like a video, the on-lookers, til it’s time |
| To pick, cops up, and pick brains up |
| They should of picked man up, hook Dana Dane up |
| It’s my year, my whole block living laid up |
| Salute all the hood in me, the days fly off |
| I’m just lampin' elevator music, laying in the Waldoff |
| Tongue be swifter than a race horse, fresh cut |
| Blazing a gauge off, analyze the days, dog |
| Running up in spots, carrying knots |
| Marrying blocks, salaries is carrying cops |
| Call it the Jim Thorpe theory, Olympic minds quick, catch on |
| We used to switch nines, glowing on the Ferry |
| Renaissance Rembrandts on, ready to spray a cop |
| Eight shots, that hold weight and hold slots |
| Hands like Dusty, a mind like magnetic clusty |
| The Louis Rich saga, that’ll dutch me |
| Tree of life suit on, big thick gem with his loot on |
| Rocks that’ll freeze up a uniform |
| Major live feed out, Fila bubble with the heat out |
| Dedicated to ya’ll, with my meat out |