Lyrics Da Game - Lost Boyz

Da Game

I needs dough, you needs dough
We needs dough, so yo
Put on my thinking cap and wrote a rap
About the niggas getting out of state trap, living that, yo what’s up black?
Well it’s my third day home and not a cent to my name
No jobs to claim, I’m back in the drug game
I need some money in a hurry, I’m saying
My baby boy Troy he’ll be two next February
I’m in the crib with my man, my nigga Van Dam
And we thinking of an out of state plan, peep it
My man Roller Dough, fired up on Friday
Cuz buying an Ac' and bounce on the on the highway
Now Friday comes moms is beefing cuz I’m cursing
She smells cheeb' on me, I’m a whole different person
Well I kiss her on the cheek, she understood the chat
'Now call me when you get there, and tell me where you at'
Well all right, ma, checked out on my niggas, then we jetted
With fifty balls a piece, war and peace for unleaded
Smoke blunts, forty ounce and G and me bouncing
This is how we do, we the Lost Boyz, we in the game
The bitches, the money, the cars, we in the game
Jeans in a hurry, gonna blow
For 46 balls a piece, and each gotta owe
In the trunk, punk, we bouncing to Jamaica, Queens, funk
And inside the blunt, want 21 skunk
We headed for the belly and we entering the mouth
My niggas in the half, black, and yo, we headed south
Now that don’t look right, but listen, black, we ight
We blasting coppers in the face in case the coppers crashing light
And smoking blunts by the boxes, ghetto champagne is chilled
Stopped at the first Big Boys for gas and the mill
Now everybody’s looking at them niggas from New York
With Phil' jackets on and they peep as we talk
I say to Pretty Lou, look where Roller Dough’s at
I want one of them shits by the time we gets back
We got the gas, saved a mil on the road, once again
Tahleek’s on the blunt, G&B's on the blend, we in the game
Now we reached the destination, one o’clock on the dot
Went to check out the spot, it’s right next to a lot
We jumped out the car, we got the whole town staring at the
New York City plates, and the dumb shit we wearing
I guess it all seems that the game could cause racket
How niggas in the Ac' and each got a Phil' jacket
A weed town out loud, we got, shit on the board
Every single day we get fresh at the in the mall
Trooping, plus we got the garage moving
We getting our connects from a dooba named Ruben
Hanging, out of state, our nine is a visit
Living in the park, but in ya park it ain’t your present in the game