Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song G's Game, artist - South Central Cartel. Date of issue: 02.08.2018
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
G's Game |
| Playin' like a gangsta, you wanna be a G |
| I told you gangstas boogie, did you listen to the P? |
| I tell you how it’s on if you recognize the real |
| You ain’t the only brother out there fiendin for the kill |
| Playin' like a gangsta, you niggas better see |
| I represent my Loc and you represent yo' G |
| Cause players only prosper as you suckers bite the dust |
| And wonder why they died from the millimeter bust |
| Now you can be my Cuz, homie, I can be yo' Blood |
| But if you true to self, G, I got to show you love |
| They wonder if it’s Crip but does it matter where I G? |
| I’m sick of doin' shows for niggas lookin' mad at me |
| I represent the small percent of real niggas |
| Never claim the hood even though I pull triggers |
| Now get directly at me, I’m not trippin' on the fame |
| I’m talkin' to my niggas playin' in this G’s game |
| You playin' in the G’s game |
| And homie, it’s hard to maintain |
| If you slip in the hood it’s never all good |
| Cause you can get smoked in the hood |
| You playin' in the G’s game |
| And homie, it’s hard to maintain |
| If I can be your Loc, then you can be my G |
| It’s all to the G |
| Now recognize, open yo' eyes as I hit the switch dippin' |
| Sippin' on that St. in the cup reminiscin' |
| Cause deep in this game the mentality is devilish |
| You wanna be a G, but you ain’t even ready yet |
| Went to high school, dropped out, you couldn’t handle it |
| Hangin' with them brothers that you knew was straight scandalous |
| Got it in yo' mind that you gots to pack the .44 |
| Quarter on the hood, to stack a end you slang lleyo |
| On the run daily, now you’re livin' foul |
| Mom’s cryin' nightly, so she throwin' in the towel |
| I used to be a G-sta of em all, but bullets don’t have eyes |
| So it made a brother realize |
| I can be a G rockin shows |
| Clockin, stackin' ends, droppin' tracks in studio |
| Yeah, but jealousy plays the part cause these fools wanna maddog, loc |
| When I’m dippin' on 'em hundred spokes |
| Now back up in the days |
| They used to settle beef just from the shoulder |
| But now they want the funk and I can smell the fuckin odor |
| It’s mandatory, brothas gots to pick a strap up |
| The gangstas move in town to built the ghetto back up |
| And all the bustas sweatin' Prodeje because I’m clockin' |
| I used to buck a fool, say «fuck a fool», but now I’m rockin' |
| The other dialect to put my G into perspective |
| And all that’s bound to scare should come to get their ass collected |
| And now you on the run, you caught a case |
| You wanna get your stripes, so you shot a Baby Loc in his face |
| Now face the fact retaliation, is a must, G |
| And if you slip, yo' enemies are gonna bust, G |
| And if you make it home, you’re lucky |
| Cause ghetto warfare is leavin' niggas' minds twisted like Chuckie |
| Rhyme Son say it’s crucial, black G’z need to wake up then |
| And recognize the fuckin' games that you play with me |