| This is us
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| Impalas parked next to Bentley trucks
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| Four bins supposed to be here, I should dig 'em up
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| But since I can’t, I’ma hold this Henny up
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| 15 years of greatness
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| 15 years of hatin'
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| 15 years of patience, that’s what I had to practice
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| So I ain’t end up back on that country jail mattress
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| Fuck all this rap shit
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| In Compton we in the dirt, sticks on us like a cactus
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| Cincinnati on, closin' on the third strap
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| Gave two away to some fans, this my third hat
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| Runnin' this marathon, I’m on my third lap
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| Where my key to the city, don’t y’all think I deserve that?
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| L.A. sheriffs left Ryan on the curb, flat
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| 37 shots, so I’m on 133rd strapped
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| 40oz love, white Air Force Ones in the mud
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| Young front end on the Cutlass like, «What's up?»
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| See my dead homie mama, hop out and give her a hug
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| 40oz love, niggas gon' ask, so choose one, Crip or Blood
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| Money fallin' out your pocket while you’re sellin' drugs
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| Every drink of Old English, grab a cup, I fill it up for you
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| You outta gas? |
| I fill it up for you
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| You surrounded in the club? |
| We pullin' up for you
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| You went to jail? |
| I took that money, I put it up for you
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| You still got your hand out like I ain’t did enough for you
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| You put on that snitch jacket and it stuck to you
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| On my life, I love you but I can’t fuck with you
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| I gotta stick to the code
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| Never slip, never fold, stay rich 'til I’m old
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| Love my kids on my soul
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| Both my baby mamas know if I go, open the safe and give 'em all the gold
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| And my cousin, Magic Cold, he in the pen on his toes
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| How you talk them people into transferrin' you to a level 4?
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| He got 20 months left, that shit movin' hella slow
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| 20 blunts, half a pound a day until they let him go
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| I give him 30 racks every time he touch the surface
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| I’m startin' to think this nigga goin' to jail on purpose
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| Either way, I gotta keep givin' you 40oz love
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| White Air Force Ones in the mud
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| Young front end on the Cutlass like, «What's up?»
|
| See my dead homie mama, hop out and give her a hug
|
| 40oz love, niggas gon' ask, so choose one, Crip or Blood
|
| Money fallin' out your pocket while you’re sellin' drugs
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| Every drink of Old English, grab a cup, I fill it up for you |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song 40 Ounce Love, artist - The Game. Album song Born 2 Rap, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп