Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Game Theory, artist - The Roots. Date of issue: 31.12.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
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— |