Lyrics Game Theory - The Roots

Game Theory

This is a game
I’m your specimen
This is a game
I’m your specimen
This is a game
I’m your specimen
This is a game
I’m your specimen
[Bridge:
Sly Stone
You’ve got to let me know, baby
So I can go
I’d have to fake it, I could not make it
You could not take it
Yeah, where I’ma start it at;
look, I’m a part of that
Downtown Philly, where it’s realer than a heart attack
It wasn’t really that ill until the start of crack
Now, it’s a body caught every night on the Almanac
Rock bottom, where them cops got a problem at
Where them outsiders getting popped for they wallet at
I had nothing, but I made something out of that
Now, I’m the first out the limo like Charlie Mack
From 2−1-5, it’s him, the livest one
And he’s representing Philly to the fullest
Black’s the realest, you can’t touch him
And not for nothing, if you 'bout hip-hop, then you gots to love it
If not, then, fuck it, I’m still handling
Smoking more reefer than Redman and 'em
Damaging MCs
, and my name—'Riq, geez
You endangered species
For what I do, I’m 'bout to up the fees, I’m paper chase-motivated
I ain’t the one to play with, these cats get set ablaze
You can have it y’all way, but I’d rather parlay
Just smoke O.G.
and get cabbage all day
The way foreplay causes your main thing to say:
«You style so splendid;
you 'bout your business»
You arousing my interests, you sharper than a shogun
You know the way it go, huh—game!
Know what I’m talking 'bout?
«Hus'"—that's short for «hustlers»
We Black Ink, Raw Life productions
Tryna find our spots amongst the ruckus
And be sucker-free, and free of chumps and busters, man
Yeah, get 'em, hus', get 'em, hus', get 'em, hus'
Ayo, I’m tryn get it at any cost, so it’s no remorse
When I’m blasting off like you been asking for
When Black step in the door all hats is off
Your hands up in the air going back and forth
I’m about ready for a classic massacre
I’ll make it hotter than when Shaft in Africa
Jump out a black Porshe huffing a fat cigar
Night-riding on 'em like my last name Hasselhoff
Voted unlikely to succeed 'cause my class was full
Of naysayers, cheaters and thieves
All it gave me was a good enough reason to leave
And put the writing on the wall for y’all to read it and weep
'Cause I’m the force of the Lord, the rage of Hell
You’d rather head for the hills and save yourselves
My man rip drums like he ringing the bells
The king of the realm, you seen him do his thing in a film, c’mon
«Hus'"—that's short for «hustlers»
We Black Ink, Raw Life productions
Tryna find our spots amongst the ruckus
And be sucker-free, and free of chumps and busters, man
Yeah, get 'em, hus', get 'em, hus', get 'em, hus'
Dreams with M16s with infrared beams
Blowing up presidents' cribs with cans of kerosene
Hijack the limousine with a strategic routine
Then blast my enemies, head for the Caribbeans
The militant guerilla camp is ready for war
Lay you on the face-down
Place down your jewels, cash and four-four
When I score, prepare for torture
Fuck around and make your town Warsaw
I’m from Illadel', the land where the killers dwell
My technique is to ambush you, guerilla-style
My instinct is of a killer whale
Bang you up from head to toe
With lyrics I pack like a nine-millimal'
My type subliminal mentality switched to criminal
Importing heroin internash' from Senegal
A soldier takes his stripes from a general
Used the mic of iron or lead, you choose your mineral
This is a game
And I’m your specimen
You’ve got to let me know, baby
So I can go
I’d have to fake it, I could not make it
You could not—