| Throw your muthaf-cking Cincinnati hats in the sky
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| N-gga don’t ask why
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| Red laces in and out of them Air Max '95′s
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| I, walk on the moon, flow hotter than June
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| Any n-gga want drama I kick up a sand dune
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| Peace to my man ‘Tune for giving his man room
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| Now we hittin' switches to the Spring Break, Cancun
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| Get it, nah forget it, SuWoo I live it Made the letter B more famous than a Red Sox fitted
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| But that was suicide, I don’t live in Judah’s eyes
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| Half of these rappers weren’t trappin' when I was choppin' the do or die
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| Suge had me in, I went Puffy like Zab Judah eye
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| Dre called, told my baby momma «won't you decide»
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| She chose Doc, first day I poured? |
| like its Aftermath for life
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| And all I do is ride
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| Before I turn on ‘em I kill Satan and stick my red flag in the ground
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| It’s Red Nation!!!
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| Now Blood the f-ck up Everyday’s a gamble muthaf-cker, tough luck
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| And we gon f-ck the World til that bitch bust nuts
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| I can’t tell ya whats good, but I can tell ya whats, what
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| And that’s, B’s up, hoes down
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| Lookin' in the mirror, I’m nowhere to be found
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| Blood, I’m a dog, call me a blood hound
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| Throwin' blood in the air, leave blood on the ground
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| N-ggas'll trade they soul to be Drake or J. Cole
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| Live and die for this shit, word to Tupac Shakur’s halo
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| One blood, plural, n-gga I’m spendin' Euro’s
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| Ferrari got an ice cream paint job, Dorrough
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| I’m up out the hood, where they pull guns on you like
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| Come up out ya hood, it aint never all good
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| We roll up in backwoods, n-gga get to actin' stupid
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| Get thrown in the back woods
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| Los Angeles, home of the scandalous
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| Pimp, hoes and gamblers
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| 98 degree’s on Christmas
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| N-gga we rollin' cannibus
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| Swisha sweet aint it, I told her I’m Charles Louboutin
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| The bitch fainted, pulled her panites down, stain it That’s my Chi-lingo, yeah I’m bi-lingual
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| Ball by myself, Ochocinco
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| Dancing with the stars, bullets and fast cars
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| And everybody bleed out here, word to God
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| Now Blood the f-ck up Everyday’s a gamble muthaf-cker, tough luck
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| And we gon f-ck the World til the bitch bust nuts
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| I can’t tell ya whats good, but I can tell ya whats, what
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| And that’s, B’s up, hoes down
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| Lookin' in the mirror, I know where to be found
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| Blood, I’m a dog, call me a blood hound
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| Throwin' blood in the air, leave blood on the ground
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| Russia got a Red Flag
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| US got Red Stripes
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| Last train to Paris, round the World in these red Nikes
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| Che Guevara of the New Era, test me Louieville slugger, you’ll get buried in my era
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| Got that natty on, tighter than a magnum
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| Walk in the club saggin' with a 38 magnum
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| Red Ralph Laurens, the double R sittin' on a hill like Lauren
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| Her and the car foreign
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| Got my red Dre Beats on, tryna put my peeps on And I keep it hood like this Phantom is a Nissan
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| Where my n-gga Jim Jones at?
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| Roll up the weed son, so many bloods in Compton had to get a NYC song
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| And while I’m out here, I might as well go shopping
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| And put this new bad b-tch I got her some red bottoms
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| And all these hatin' ass n-ggas want me dead
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| Cause I’m Malcolm X before he turned Muslim, RED
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| Now Blood the f-ck up Everyday’s a gamble muthaf-cker, tough luck
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| And we gon f-ck the World til the bitch bust nuts
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| I can’t tell ya whats good, but I can tell ya whats, what
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| And that’s, B’s up, hoes down
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| Lookin' in the mirror, I know where to be found
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| Blood, I’m a dog, call me a blood hound
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| Throwin' blood in the air, leave blood on the ground |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Red Nation, artist - The Game. Album song The R.E.D. Album, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп