Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Pit It in Da Air (feat. The Game), artist - Sky BallaDate of issue: 12.03.2009
Song language: English
Pit It in Da Air (feat. The Game) |
| Who’s hot, who’s not; |
| I been the hottest thing |
| on the West, ever since the death of Tupac |
| Kept my crack in clear capsules with blue tops |
| And it’s still nothin for me to get you shot |
| You see him? |
| Yup, the same ol' pimp |
| Sky baller, and ain’t nuttin changed but my limp |
| Natural born player, mine not a lame or a simp |
| The world is mine, you see my name on a blimp |
| Stay Dolce Gabbana’d down, play the Bahamas now |
| Youse a donkey, I’ma piranha clown |
| I keep thick bread, in the pockets of my sweats |
| While I’m drivin I get head in the cockpit of my 'Vette |
| And my game is sharp as a mosquito’s needle |
| As far as the charts, young S be’s the Beatles |
| Purple haze smoke in the urr, blow in the wind |
| The rims right there when I stop they still go and they spin |
| I can teach you how to stunt boy, and pop that trunk boy |
| Them city slickers ain’t never been punks boy |
| So fix your ice grill, and your mean mug |
| Unless you wanna feel a few M-16 slugs |
| Nigga you got a blunt then put it in the air |
| Nigga you got a gun then put it in the air |
| Nigga you from a gang then put in in the air |
| Play with Killa Cali if you want, muh’fuckers |
| I ain’t got no time for fake ones, so don’t think for a second |
| I won’t pull this 45 and put your stomach where your neck is |
| If I tell you kiss the sky better respect it |
| Or get yo' ass hog-tied, butt-ass naked |
| I’m doin this for Eazy, like it or not |
| I wouldn’t even be rappin if Eric Wright wouldn’ta dropped |
| I love this shit, I work and I’m good |
| I ain’t on corner fuckers but I’m still in the hood |
| I’m poised to go platinum, that’s what the magazines sayin |
| Fuck The Source, I got my own magazines man |
| I call her Shirley, she got a 32 round clip |
| And she love hangin out wit’chu girlies |
| I’m like them Philly nigs that come through «Early» |
| Through your front door without knockin like Mr. Furley |
| It’s just me, you and the semi — «Three's Company» |
| You want the crown, you be U.G.K. |
| like Bun B |
| I rock jewels, cop tools, I will not lose |
| A million miles a minute is how my block moves |
| I stay in the fast lane, never fakin, cheddar chasin |
| I’m in the game for the cash mayne |
| And bitches play this in they Benzes, Jeeps and G.O.'s |
| They say I’m arrogant and got a big ego |
| But they still love to swallow me up |
| And every hotel suite, they wanna follow me up |
| But I ain’t gon' put my dick in for free, nah ma |
| You want the kid then you gotta pay this pimpin a fee |
| And ain’t no champagne left, so let’s toast 'gnac |
| Sky baller and Game 'bout to bring the West coast back |
| I’m on that get dough shit, that Frank War pimpin that ho shit |
| In Cali smokin that 'dro shit |
| I still push fishscale, and china white |
| A lil' nigga with a big gun and I ain’t tryin to fight |