Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Out the Park , by - The Game. Release date: 03.06.2010
Song language: English
Out the Park |
| I be down in lil Haiti, bagin a lil weezy and a lil baby |
| In a drop top Mercedes, I’m not what your used to |
| I’m a lil koo-koo, I’ll put this 9 on your head like a fucking bluetooth |
| And let the smoke from the Benz exhaust blend with |
| The smoke from the cough cuz that marijuana I’m smoking |
| Mary J what’s the 411, call guidos people I need 4 more guns |
| And shoutout to LL for no fucking reason |
| Cuz he the reason Def Jam was ever breathing |
| Number one, you niggas can’t fuck with son |
| Number two, new DJs don’t have a clue |
| Number three, to ever to be a real MC |
| You have to go back to '88 and battle Kool G |
| Then battle Cool Jay with Cool Herp judging |
| I’m the opposite of the levy in New Orleans, I’m not budging |
| Niggas talking bout they cars, nigga I got a dozen |
| You couldn’t see Game if you were Chris Paul cousin |
| While we talking 'bout cousin, if you was cousin |
| Then I’ll be blooding, so you still ain’t saying nothing |
| I’m coming outta customs, on the phone with Busta |
| Lil duffle bag boys, I’m swimming in trust funds |
| So trust that its fun, let ms. |
| white scholar (?) |
| And this white collar touch my ones |
| Jay got married, whatup b |
| I wish I could of threw the rice, just like salt to me |
| And I’m right where I ought to be |
| Across from Jack Nickolson nigga playoff seats |
| Whatup Bynum, how’s that playoff …(?) |
| Next time-out tell Kobe run the play-off me |
| Cuz I dribbled in hallways all day, did drive-bys in broad day |
| And I lost a homie in a car chase |
| Think I’m bullshitting, call Face, call Mase |
| I’m a ghetto boy nigga i grew up on Scarface |
| Call Nas, how that Cuban cigar taste |
| Ask about the homie Suge, I’ll blow the smoke in your face |
| Now wouldn’t it be gangsta if i knocked out the nigga that hit him |
| At the club throw up a motherfucking dub |
| Im an animal around these parts, I’m a cannibal around your heart |
| Hannibal chewing through cantaloupe |
| Couldn’t find a doctor I had to make my own antidote |
| Never detox and I blow it like Barry Manelope |
| Cali Cronic Purple Haze, twisting up a back wood |
| Thinking bout when I was running through 50s back woods |
| In Connecticut my etiquette was gangsta |
| Damn, I was right there when he dropped «Wanksta» |
| The good old days, smoking the good old jays |
| Rocking good old Jays, the nigga proof or the number fours |
| I like the number nines, them shits were hot in the summertime |
| Keep playing I’ll put your ass up under mine |
| The old Jimmy Henchmen, that’s my ratchet game |
| Welcome to Compton, corners call it baggage claim |