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The Game
The Game


Background information
Birth name Jayceon Terrell Taylor
Born November 29, 1979
Born place Los Angeles, California, United States
Origin Compton, California, United States
Genre(s) Hip-hop
Gangsta Rap
Years active 2002—present
Label(s) Geffen Records
Interscope Records
G-Unit Records
Aftermath Entertainment
Associated acts 50 Cent
Snoop Dogg
Lil Wayne
Nas
Pharrell Williams
Busta Rhymes
Website Website



Music World  →  Lyrics  →  T  →  The Game  →  Albums  →  G.A.M.E.

The Game Album


G.A.M.E. (03/21/2006)
03/21/2006
1.
Anything You Ask For (feat. Bootleg)
2.
Never Personal (feat. JT The Bigga Figga)
3.
Gettin' American Money Easy (feat. Young Noble)
4.
Curtains
5.
6.
Walk Wit Me
7.
It Gets Thicker
8.
9.
It's The Game
10.
Nothin' Promised
11.
Get Live
12.
It Is What It Is
. . .


Huh, niggaz think they got the game sewed, yeah right
I'm air tight, fresh in them Air Nikes
If the Navy outside, I might be there
Black hoodie, black 9, black wifey airs
Rock guns like Caddy trunks, keep a spare

You see the lump under the Iceberg fleece and gear
And when the beef cook, I'ma put the piece to your head
And if you see a white truck that mean yo' sheets is dead
Then I'm goin' goin', back back

To the block to dump the bucket and jump in the drop
Niggaz know I'm good with the glock, they call me Chick Hearns
'Cause if the game on knot, I'm callin the shots
I'll wear a shiny suit for a minute like I'm The LOX

Then get gangster with a swap meet bag and a Jordan box
And when I die, bury me with the glock and a bucket of shells
In case niggaz want drama in hell

Yeah, so when Compton niggaz and Fillmoe niggaz get together
Shit happens mayne, real talk from ya nigga Fig'
Doin' it big and don't wanna split yo' wig

I'll give you anything you ask fo', money over bitches
Tell me what'chu blast fo', fuck around with snitches
What you had to smash fo', niggaz tried to play me man
Anything you ask fo', all about this Bay game
Anything you ask fo', representin' Bay game

I'll give you anything you ask fo', money over bitches
Tell me what'chu blast fo', fuck around with snitches
What you had to smash fo', niggaz tried to play me man
Anything you ask fo', all about this Bay game
Anything you ask fo', representin' Bay game

I be the boy with the most cabbage, pluck strings like I'm Lenny Kravitz
I'm in the streets where they goin' savage
One, two, we dance on the rooftop
Let the Coupe ghost ride then we come to two stops

Figga eight'n by the corner sto'
Niggarali from killer Cali you gotta let 'em know
Yeahh, ya hit me on my Sidekick
Inventory pilin' up, niggaz tryin' to buy shit

They got me diggin in my files
Pro Tools, ADAT tapes and big sounds
Jumpin' on a plane, jumpin' out a taxi cab
Stackin' up this fettucini now these niggaz hella mad

Fuck that nigga, he got another album on the board?
Damn right, another album on the board
Fuck the bullshit, the Figgarali don't play
I represent the whole Bay every motherfuckin' day

I'll give you anything you ask fo', money over bitches
Tell me what'chu blast fo', fuck around with snitches
What you had to smash fo', niggaz tried to play me man
Anything you ask fo', all about this Bay game
Anything you ask fo', representin' Bay game

Count rubber band grands
I'm out big on the under, with my fam bam
And I, hover the lands
To expand, I'm from the gutter grime and the sand

No jams the flam's all busted
The dames want the bucks when, they see you stuffed in
Your pockets, 'til they get them some
But testin' my pocket, only gets you none

'Cause I, got a pimp mentality
The scrubs wanna eat shrimp and get my salary
They ain't knowin' I'm tight laced in my shoestrings
Hate the way I'm flowin' on the mic 'cause I do gleam

All types of baguettes and bezels
We shine like life's {unverified} rebels
2005, me and my crew just pile the pots
Move like the ice loose, pimp these thangs to watch

D.J. Nesha

. . .

Never Personal

[No lyrics]

. . .

Gettin' American Money Easy

[No lyrics]

. . .

Curtains

[No lyrics]

. . .


Real niggas stand up, hold they dick
Bitch niggas sit down to piss, what type of nigga is you?
I'm the type to pack a gat or few
Pull out and pop, simply 'cause I'm mad at you

Real niggas stand up, hold they dick
Bitch niggas sit down to piss, what type of nigga is you?
I'm the type to pack a gat or few
Pull out and pop, simply 'cause I'm mad at you

Y'all niggas see me when I'm come through and ain't no denyin'
That them big motherfuckers is twenty five
Swayin' in and out of white line, six double 0
Deuce zeroes, I'm feelin' like the streets is mine

Mines hustle, mucho dinero, heat's confined
See more fall guys than Foreman-Ali combined
Any beef, I'm releasin' mine
And I won't stop bustin' 'til them Escalade seats recline

The kid roll with a greasy nine, come through and blast
I return shots like Arthur Ashe
You do the math, ten shots, ten dead bodies
Fuck bein' sorry, it ain't nuttin' but a gangsta party

And I'll make sure ain't a nigga survivin'
Shoot up the ambulance, make sure it ain't a nigga there to revive him
And the Game ain't tryin' to win, fuck the awards
So keep that little-ass horn, and that Neil Armstrong, nigga

Real niggas stand up, hold they dick
Bitch niggas sit down to piss, what type of nigga is you?
I'm the type to pack a gat or few
Pull out and pop, simply 'cause I'm mad at you

Real niggas stand up, hold they dick
Bitch niggas sit down to piss, what type of nigga is you?
I'm the type to pack a gat or few
Pull out and pop, simply 'cause I'm mad at you

Trust me, dog, ain't shit you can put in your rap
That'll make you a gangsta, you a bitch and that's that
Niggaz thinkin' I retired my Chucks, put the gun back in the holsters
'Cause I weave through traffic in a roaster

But that don't stop the heater from bangin' or me comin' through
Droppin' all y'all niggas with three in the chamber
Keep two mac-10's when I'm rollin', one in the changer
One when I push the button's right next to the cupholder

Dog, we can get this shit over, I got ten on the Game
Let's say that Lee Harvey crack ya brain
Ain't gotta look over my shoulder, I'm good with the aim
Good with the handle and the bullet's good with the bloodstains

And the coroner's real good with the pickup
A1 good with the carpet cleanin', they can get the rest of that shit up
'Cause I kill like the hiccups, two at a time
Put you niggas next to each other how I do 'em in line

Real niggas stand up, hold they dick
Bitch niggas sit down to piss, what type of nigga is you?
I'm the type to pack a gat or few
Pull out and pop, simply 'cause I'm mad at you

Real niggas stand up, hold they dick
Bitch niggas sit down to piss, what type of nigga is you?
I'm the type to pack a gat or few
Pull out and pop, simply 'cause I'm mad at you

Come through in a big boy, leave the bullshit at home
If beef cook, then I'm bringin' the chrome
If I die, then I'm leavin' a clone, but if I live
Through the drama one mo' time then them boys gotta dig

When I think about who shot me, I listen to Big
When I'm rhymin' on the road, I listen to Jig
Bump Nas off that purple, sittin' on the block
And when I'm loadin' up them clips, I listen to 'Pac

A semi with me like Eddie Murphy, got mo' guns
Than F A B O L O U S got jerseys
And you might get 'em all in the face when shit get thick
Make the back of your head look like Jerome Kearsey

And ain't nuttin' to do a drive-by in the hood
We ain't even got survival, but I'ma still take that ride
Bet my drink on it, bet my main squeeze mink on it
Think this shit a joke? Bet the S-5 pink on it

Real niggas stand up, hold they dick
Bitch niggas sit down to piss, what type of nigga is you?
I'm the type to pack a gat or few
Pull out and pop, simply 'cause I'm mad at you

Real niggas stand up, hold they dick
Bitch niggas sit down to piss, what type of nigga is you?
I'm the type to pack a gat or few
Pull out and pop, simply 'cause I'm mad at you

. . .

Walk Wit Me

[No lyrics]

. . .

It Gets Thicker

[No lyrics]

. . .


Death before dishonor
Ride with weap' up, 'cause niggaz tryin' to dent my armor
Cold streets, Telly Mac keep the guns on 'em
They wanna know how that nigga from California
Could run up on ya on any corner

Put somethin' on ya
How I stuff bricks in the 6 with no crack aroma
Dawg, I'm just livin' for the moment
I'm from Compton homey, but I'm like a center for Milwaukee

'Cause I play for the Bucks and I keep the 40 on me
Gotta keep the chrome-y, gotta keep my back to the wall
Wait for Q to rock me up, like cavi dawg
Speakin of lle', I put 8 in, 10 jump back hard
And watch my money come back like Jordan in charge

I'm like the black Yankees, they don't want me around no more
'Cause I hold the record for the most fiends roamin' the boulevard
And when I'm on the boulevard, catch me behind the wheel
Of that new Escalade with the Foreman grill

Steppin' out of Chevies with heat that's heavy, that's president
Bullets flyin' for them dead guys, that's president
Lead meltin' inside your wig, that's president
20's 50's and 100's burnin', it's all president

Steppin' out of Chevies with heat that's heavy, that's president
Bullets flyin' for them dead guys, that's president
Lead meltin' inside your wig, that's president
20's 50's and 100's burnin', it's all president

It's Telly and young Game, the hustler, ho juggler, coke smuggler
No matter what the hustle, dough doublin'
Yale or the rock, give me a day and a spot
And I bet, I'll come back with 10K in the drop

I'll stay in the spot, wearin' a crop and coppin' ounces
Telly Mac and Game the hustler, we rock the house
And plus we the reason that the blocks is out
So my words to the wise is just watch your mouth

And you don't want it when the stainless out
What the game about, the bullets is in, your brains is out
All over Frisco and Compton dawg, we ruthless
And the truth is y'all niggaz can't stop us dawg

So why the fuck you wanna knock us off
Like we some high-powered cowards
And y'all really the niggaz that's soft
Still across the train tracks, we turn 'caine crack
It's Telly Mac and Game the hustler, you can't change that

Steppin' out of Chevies with heat that's heavy, that's president
Bullets flyin' for them dead guys, that's president
Lead meltin' inside your wig, that's president
20's 50's and 100's burnin', it's all president

Steppin' out of Chevies with heat that's heavy, that's president
Bullets flyin' for them dead guys, that's president
Lead meltin' inside your wig, that's president
20's 50's and 100's burnin', it's all president

. . .

It's The Game

[No lyrics]

. . .

Nothin' Promised

[No lyrics]

. . .

Get Live

[No lyrics]

. . .

It Is What It Is

[No lyrics]

. . .


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