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  • Game – Savage Lifestyle (1992 Album) letras

    Can you pan over a little bit? Look at this right here, this is a suburban type jeep with a sharp shooter peering outside of the sunroof with an automatic rifle. It appears to be a scene you might see in Operation Desert Storm and we’ve been seeing this all night

    [Verse 1]
    It’s a trap, it’s a trap
    Why they ain’t tell us red and blue don’t matter when you black
    Matter of fact we in blindfolds
    Bunch of lost souls
    Kids shot dead in the streets now they eyes closed
    How you call the angels when it’s kings getting beat up
    And Gil Garcetti in his office with his feet up
    No way to dodge police brutality
    Selling crack cocaine, making a teacher’s salary
    Mexicans hopping the borders in the thousands
    Become cholos, one button pendleton and they styling
    Crips on the corner in Dodger blue with they gold chains
    Bloods sporting corn rows and Chucks with the red strings
    Sun going down so them Chevys about to roll out
    Fiends scratching themselves, stumbling out the dope house
    Niggas tying bandanas, bout to put the drum on
    Make it home ‘fore street lights come on

    The way we living savage
    The way we living savage
    The way we living savage
    The way we living savage

    [Verse 2]
    So grab that gun, load that clip
    Grab that torch, light that shit
    Grab that stick, grab that brick
    Throw it
    It’s time to riot if you don’t see black owned in the window
    It’s on fire
    Start here, end up over there
    The smell of gun powder in the air
    And just so we clear
    This is pain and despair
    We burn our own shit and we aware
    And don’t care
    Tell the national guards to disappear
    We got guns too and we ain’t scared
    So fuck the man, fuck the President Bush and his legislation
    Shit gotta change and we ain’t waiting, fuck patience
    The government corrupt, I can prove it
    Martin, Malcolm, Huey P. Newton
    And that’s why the whole city out here looting
    How can we stand here and not do shit?
    All this smoke over the hood looking like low clouds
    Cars with no miles on fire, they broke down
    White people wishing that they was at home
    Asians fronting like they business is black owned
    Far from stupid, we coming in the stores tripping
    Running in swap meets for they Jordans and they Pippins
    Crowbars, bats, anything that break glass
    They fucked Rodney King up and now it’s they ass
    So it’s bottle rockets through the window
    Kids that would never smoke indo
    Fiends kicking in doors, steeling Nintendos
    Niggas robbing liquor stores with taped up duck hunt guns
    City burning but it’s fucked up fun
    National guards on the corner
    They don’t know the hood, they foreigners
    We was busting at the cops before Chris Dorner
    Ghetto birds flying over the hood, they see us
    Showing the fuck out, cleaning the trucks out
    Niggas mobbing down the streets pushing big screens and baskets
    Staring straight into the cameras
    No ski mask, just pandemonium
    Niggas looting what they homies in
    Running around with Scarface guns like they was Tony and them
    Who, what, where, when, how the fuck they gonna stop us?
    When the last 50 years we accustomed to window shopping
    So we taking lighters to the tip of magazines
    Dip ’em in gasoline

    And set this motherfucker on (fire)
    The whole world watching, Los Angeles is on (fire)
    Yeah, yeah, (fire)
    1992, was you here for the (fire)

    [Verse 3]
    Standing on the corner with a brick in my hand
    When my mother told me sit in the van, nah fuck that
    Footlocker chained up, wire cutters cut that
    Niggas crip walking where Reginald Denny’s truck at
    Police cars, driving by niggas in slow mo
    If you white don’t stop at the light, cause that’s a no-no
    Running through the malls, give us everything polo
    The first time niggas ain’t have beef with the cholos
    ’92 fire lit the skyline
    And why loot? To capture that forbidden troop
    Cause Adam never ate the fruit
    Fuck your blue suits, your badge, and them high beams
    We out here selling chronic, we ain’t have no Jimmy Iovines
    Shit burning, you gon’ need more than Visine
    We making a movie better than anyone that I’ve seen
    Should be on ShowTime, HBO, Cinemax

    Get a match, we gon’ make sure that y’all remember that (fire)
    The whole world watching, Los Angeles is on (fire)
    Yeah, yeah, (fire)
    1992, was you here for the (fire)

    Make me wanna holla
    The way they do my life
    Make me wanna holla
    The way they do my life
    This ain’t living, this ain’t living
    No-no baby, this ain’t living
    No, no, no, no
    Inflation, no chance
    To increase