Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Don't Need Your Love, artist - The Game. Date of issue: 17.01.2004
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Don't Need Your Love |
| Yo Havoc, I’m too close to the edge on this one nigga |
| I ain’t gon' jump though, I’ma keep it raw gutter |
| Yo Prodigy, you know I need you on this one nigga |
| I got shit on my chest, I must confess |
| Last night I was the nigga that shot up your projects |
| Now I’m back in the hood, with rocks in the Pyrex |
| Tan khakis and them Nike Airs with the dyed checks |
| I was forced to live this life, forced to bust my chrome |
| My pops left me in a foster home |
| I felt abandoned like Quik now that Mausberg gone |
| So I don’t hop in the SS without the Mossberg homes |
| I’ve been rappin for a year and a half, my life is real |
| Put the gun in his mouth, he gon' bite the steel |
| Come to Compton, I got stripes for real |
| Before Dre, before the ice, before the deal — I was almost killed |
| Like 'Pac before the Death Row deal |
| I got shot over two pounds of weed, still ain’t found them niggaz |
| But karma come quicker for a nigga on the other side of the gun |
| That’s somethin I gotta teach my son |
| I don’t need your love, no no no no |
| I don’t need your love |
| Need it, I don’t want it, I don’t need it |
| I don’t need your love, no I don’t need your love |
| I don’t need your love |
| Cause, the, game, don’t, change |
| I heard they got Bloods in New York now |
| Red rags in Uptown Harlem now, I need that love |
| Front court at the Knicks game, new chick, French name |
| New car, new house, and sometimes friends change |
| And you don’t need that love, when you G’s like us |
| And your Jesus piece is sim-u-lar to Biggie’s |
| And your life story is sim-u-lar to 50's |
| First they hate you, then they love you, then they hate you again |
| What the fuck do it take for a gangsta to win? |
| No mics, no +Unsigned Hype+, nigga *FUCK* The Source |
| Plus them awards I don’t need |
| And them niggaz breathin the same air as me, actin like they don’t bleed |
| We don’t drive the same speed, this a Continental T |
| That’s a case of Armadale, this a continental suite |
| So I’ma drown in my own sorrows |
| Live life, fuck tomorrow, nigga cause reality is |
| I was gassed up, Murder Inc., Roc-A-Fella passed up |
| Sat in Daddy’s House with Black Rob and Lou and asked Puff |
| Now The Game set in stone, the Frank Muniz set in stones |
| Dre cut me a check, I’m gone |
| Tryin to be the king of the streets, niggaz’ll wet your throne |
| But I got nieces to feed, two coasts to please |
| So I roam through the city like the ghost of E |
| Gotta put Compton back where it’s 'sposed to be |
| Nuttin between all my niggaz that’s close to me |
| In the streets with two fellas packin toast for me |
| I’m 'posed to be, got all the critics watchin my pivot |
| On my block in the Coupe readin kites from prison |
| I got niggaz doin life in prison |
| All my fallen soldiers is one of the reasons we pour out liquor |
| So this song is for Ms. Wallace, Afeni Shakur |
| And all the mothers of dead sons that went out in the war |