Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Bulletproof Diaries , by - The Game. Release date: 31.12.2007
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Bulletproof Diaries |
| Sit in the chair, yeah, yeah |
| Uh-huh, yeah |
| Sit my alligator jacket on the flo' |
| Let that shit crawl around, whattup Game? |
| How are you my nigga? |
| Let’s get this money, you heard? |
| Money in zipped duffle bags, shotgun shells |
| My killas gorillas, niggas couldn’t see 'em with gazelles |
| Fronting ass niggas, go hang with Pharrell |
| Trying to be a Cowboy, you catch bullets like Terrell |
| Owens, call it T.O., he leaking like a project sink |
| Busted open like a hot dog link |
| (Beef!) it gave me time to think, yeah I did my fucking prison thing |
| Came out still on point, like the RZA rings |
| I’m from Compton but my inkpen live in Queens |
| Rep the dub like Wu-Tang, and I got Killa Bees (respect) |
| Black Wall Mafia, new millenium Genovese |
| Got a million dollars say LeBron don’t win a ring (word?) |
| I know Kobe, I be on the floor, «Kobe!» |
| You know a nigga that can score 81? |
| Show me! |
| I got a Cuban Link to a fuckin O. G |
| And nigga you’re too close, what the fuck, you trying to blow me? |
| (back up) |
| This the face off (respect the don) diamonds all in the charm |
| (Iced out) Where you be? |
| (strip club, throwin ones) |
| Where you from? |
| (New York, where you from?) Californ' |
| (Big sharks) Me too (swimming in a pile of ones) |
| Yeah nigga, tomorrow man |
| Going to take you to go buy some 18-karat gold golf clubs nigga |
| In the Bronx |
| This the face off (respect the dons, hundred thousand on the arms) |
| Son where you be? |
| (Under palm trees staying warm) |
| (Who you be?) Raekwon, who is you? |
| (Amaz-on) |
| I’mma keep it (Compton) Staten ('til the day is done) |
| Geah, fronting on us nigga, it’s like |
| It’s like racing a nigga in Afghanistan to go get some oil nigga |
| You gon' fuck around and get your head burnt |
| I’m a New York dinosaur, Staten Island artifact |
| Hip-Hop's never dead, the Cuban gave 'em heart attacks |
| Sleep in the woods, target cats come from under the V’s |
| Sneeze wrong, course I’m clappin' |
| Keep it movin' homeboy, the mac’s always actin |
| Spit in your face, go 'head lil' baby rappers |
| Can’t fuck with us convicts, Stat-land |
| It’s like actions, cliques’ll die right with traction |
| It’s Wall Street money and two gunny’s |
| Slammers is extra chunky, yeah, me and my red monkeys |
| Silverback sales are few donkeys, all of us live comfy |
| Blow your head off like lunch meat |
| Chef and The Game run the country |
| Take over the world little girl, better stay out our brunch meetin' |
| Fuck with they paper they gun squeezin' |
| Off top, leak from the cop, then nigga jumped, this is front season |
| Yo, man yo Game man |
| Let these niggas know man f’real man |
| We official man |
| They wan' be reading our autobiographies in a minute, ya heard? |
| (Yo what if I was from Compton?) What if I was from Staten? |
| I’d be King Kong knocking down the buildings in Manhattan |
| (Guerrilla warfare) Shootouts, real block shit |
| West coast assassin on some real 2Pac shit |
| My style’s smoking like after a Glock spit |
| Game get the blood money, fuck bitches and pop Crys' |
| -tal like it’s New Year’s, cause this a new year |
| Look at the tracks, either Bigfoot or The Game been through here |
| The Benjamins won’t stop, and neither would a chrome Glock |
| I kill a fire-breathing dragon with a dome shot |
| Come through your hood in a Chevy Malibu, on stocks |
| We had a meeting before we got here, so shit gon' pop |
| Heads gon' roll, Patron gon' spill |
| Fitted caps getting peeled like the chrome on the wheels |
| Got a half a mil' say your wounds won’t heal |
| I declare war, nigga who gon' deal? |
| Yeah, y’all know what time it is man |
| «Bulletproof Diary» nigga, for real |
| Many may read this man |
| A lot of niggas might not make it home, you heard? |
| We speak for the real ones man, for the churchmen man |
| All them real general niggas man |
| All them niggas that’s out there man |
| Don’t get no rest or none of that man, for real |
| The Chef nigga, Game whattup baby? |
| I love you, ya heard? |
| Super mad love over here for you baby |
| You know how we do it, we go all over the fucking world man |
| Get a lot of bread man, word up, hunnid my nigga |
| We take you to Boca Chica or some’n man, knahmsayin? |
| Sip on some motherfuckin, Don Julio or some’n, y’knahmsayin? |
| With two foul rings on, y’knahmsayin? |
| Couple of mean Guatemalians wit us |
| Half Guatemala, half Somalian nigga |
| Niggas ain’t seen them colors man |