Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Up on the Wall , by - The Game. Release date: 21.01.2016
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Up on the Wall |
| Old pussy ass mark, bitch ass buster |
| Think you from LA cause you listen to some Mustard |
| This is Battlecat, my nigga Kurupt had the battle raps |
| We go back like four flats on the Cadillac |
| Nigga you ain’t never been to a hood day |
| You don’t know Ice Cube, today was a good day |
| You ain’t never been dropped off in the jungles |
| Teared Khakis, red bandana wrapped around your knuckles |
| Me and my brother used to dip down in 'Shaw |
| Stopped at the Wiener Schnitzel, got socked in the jaw |
| By some sixties, I bombed back, the nigga pulled out |
| A strap, said it’s 6−0, I ducked then he missed me |
| Now I’m back to Bompton |
| Before I hit the hood, a nigga gotta stop in the Swans |
| And pick up a sack, had fifty for an eighth |
| And I only had fifty, made it last all day |
| Smoking with the homies, my nigga G Weed from Nellaz |
| My nigga Hooter from Athens Park stay brackin' |
| Fo' line, deuce line, Bray still active |
| And the Cedars ain’t giving no passes, why we asking? |
| How you gon bang if you really ain’t from LA |
| We spray your gang up on the wall |
| Tell me |
| And how you gon' fade if you really don’t know the dance |
| I see you really don’t bang at all |
| Mark-ass |
| Murder was the case that they gave Game |
| Cops on the cutlass cause they know a nigga gang bang |
| Red bandana round the rear-view |
| «Where you say you from, Blood?» |
| Niggas can’t hear you |
| Flag on the left side claiming you a Blood |
| Blue rag on the right side calling niggas cuz |
| Bout to get your mark ass chalked out on the West |
| This for all my niggas in the pen beating on they chest like |
| I said I need some pussy on my motherfucking wall |
| And I ain’t got my commissary yet |
| I said the next motherfucker try to steal a cigarette |
| He gon' get a fucking pencil to the neck |
| That’s on the set |
| Ooh, I’m a Tree Top rep, all the |
| Homies know is shoot choppers, handguns and Tecs |
| Not unless my niggas really get it popping |
| Tree Top niggas like the Hoovers in Bompton |
| Big Budda, Syke o, Slim 4, Lil Wack |
| Q-Ball, Lil' Wolf, TK, big back |
| YZ four, three, two strap |
| Quisha and Miss Lisa, house, where we at |
| It’s the gang bang capital, 2 T’s capitals |
| Enemies know the business, this shit is factual |
| Bompton’s most hated, fuck it, shoot out and fade it |
| So my mama stay awake cause her son be gang banging |
| You don’t know about the put ons and DPs |
| Hanging out on the block (coming through to squeeze) |
| Some outta town niggas disrespecting |
| I see why Suge Knight and Big U was arrested |
| (Can't forget about the Mexicans) |
| And I fuck with the villains and the swans on God |
| On God |
| I got niggas from Denver Lane that’ll ride |
| I got esés that’ll kill you at your job |
| I got some lueders by the Wiener Schnitzel |
| Hanging out with the pistols, making sure shit official |
| Big and they both got stripes |
| Both locked up for life, so if I ever hit the pen |
| I got a squad, hell yeah I’m on that gangsta shit |
| Nigga run up, knockout, he gon' think he’s slick |
| Hub in the dub, nigga don’t even trip |
| I get you chased by the grapes, nigga 300 crips |
| My nigga Magic from Avalon, Draws from neighbourhood |
| Get your ass dope fiends slipping in Hollywood |
| Hop from 6−0, Girch from Santana |
| Roc from Nutty Blocc, we tied our bandanas |
| And for my little nigga Frogg I gotta stay active |
| Blood in, Blood out, what’s brackin'? |
| R.I.P OG TC |
| Shoutout to my big homie Bone from Athens |
| Ridin' down Bentral 'bout to bust a right |
| On Piru street and scoop this nigga Problem up, Blood |
| What, green light and yeah it’s go time |
| Product out the fo', they can get it off in no time |
| Oh my, did it on my own, no cosign |
| 45, devil in disguise, free dope trial |
| West side, ride 'em off 3rd avenue |
| Go at us, have your shirt wet as Lake Havasu |
| Pop pop diggity drop drop, hopped in a hotbox |
| Smashed off, stashed the Glock, drop it off at the chop shop |
| Boy, dollars only thing make sense |
| Fo' to the duece, rest in peace 4 Bent |
| What |
| How you gon bang if you really ain’t from LA |
| We spray your gang up on the wall |
| Tell me |
| And how you gon' fade if you really don’t know the dance |
| I see you really don’t bang at all |
| Mark-ass |