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  • Game – 92 Bars (1992 Album) letras

    [Verse]
    This that sick rap, kick back, come to where I pitch at
    Where bitches love The Game like Tyson Beckford six pack
    Presidential Rollie, nigga, where your wrist at?
    I can kill you in four bars, that’s a Kit Kat
    Did the Lambo my way with a sick wrap
    Smooth as Frank Sinatra with a motherfucking slick back
    No rats in my pack, ain’t no wrinkles in my slacks
    Counting singles in my Shaqs, stacking Pringles from the crack
    Nigga I was on the bus with it
    Had 12 stuck to my chest in the field with the colt
    Andrew Luck with it
    We had the rock, hit the block like what’s up with it
    Jay was in the Z, my young gunnas in the truck with it
    Sigel would’ve loved it, Philly would’ve fucked with it
    California state property you niggas stuck with it
    Brrrring, sold Peedi Crakk
    Game was on the block in his beanie with a Mac
    I’m what you rap niggas ‘fraid of
    A Compton nigga that could go bar for bar with Jada
    Let me tell you who suck, like banana Now or Laters
    Blac Chyna head the bomb, al-Qaeda
    Listen, you want beef I’ll cater
    Game snap on everything he like a fucking wild gator
    Silver and black Ghost, nigga that’s Al Davis
    Give me Left Eye back, take Fetty Wap and the Raiders
    The Rams is back, them bullets getting tossed
    16 on your back like you fucking Jeff Goff
    Your man acting girly too put 30 on his chest
    Kanye shrug bitch, welcome to the west
    YG, Nipsey, and Kendrick yea check
    Shout ’em out I just do it like a fucking Nike rep
    Bentley truck Chuck, with the Henny cupped up
    Don’t get me fucked up, you see the semi tucked, duck
    Pass the Goose, where them duck ducks?
    These hoes foaming at the mouth, they got Penny fucked up
    I’m ’bout to poke ’em like a cactus
    Told that bitch to roll the Philly for the game, and she talking about practice
    The Maybach is A.I
    Artificial intelligence motherfucker that’s Junior Seau
    All my doors suicide, I’m in Vegas shoot the five
    Tell the dealer pay me don’t be shy he ain’t from Do or Die
    Now do you wanna ride, back seat of my Caddy?
    Used to flip them pies ain’t no relation to Patti
    And I move Ps, ain’t no relation to Swaggy
    Before that it was missing teeth and nickel sack baggies
    That’s caine, no daddy cause I ain’t really have one
    And you can’t call yourself dope if you ain’t never bag none
    I’m the old DMX you niggas Drag-On
    Game raw as fuck like poking holes in the Magnum
    Used to ether the niggas in all of my 16s
    Now I scare ’em once a year like I’m fucking Halloween
    This ain’t a dream, nigga hurricane a nightmare
    Stab you in your sleep and smack your baby out his highchair
    Your daddy was a bitch, I had to do it
    I ain’t need no ski mask to do it
    Murder is Rihanna and I’m attracted to it
    Name a state, I’ll send a package through it
    If the fed hack into it, they get bossed on like I’m Massachusetts
    Sitting in this Maybach with music
    Your head is like Mustard beat and I’ll put the ratchet to it
    PARTY sent my jackas to it
    Drama bring the Mac into it
    And this scope will get your mouth washed when I attach it to it
    Gold on my neck, I make your bitch put her back into it
    Usain Bolt if you bring a real track into it
    Another classic moving the way to Aftermath to do it
    Dre had the Chronic all I did was put the matches to it
    Traffic moving backwards through it
    Ever since I had the Buick
    Known for putting cheese on niggas heads the way the Packers do it
    And I had the yay, yea I brought crack to music
    Every situation in rap, I’ve been a savage through it
    And all these hoes getting mad cause I’m smashing through ’em
    They can get a ring one day, if the Cavs can do it
    Be LeBron bitch, I’m Jayceon bitch
    Who else you seen parked at the swap meet in James Bond shit?
    Another foreign car driven by a convict
    Aventador matte black Akon lips
    Nas ether niggas, Game napalm shit
    Niggas say my name I pop up like the State Farm bitch
    No nigga can see me, on or off TV
    Gun by them Yeezys, I’m the 6′ 5″ Eazy
    Lightskin bitches be mad and talking greasy
    I’ma start fucking them Dej Loafs and Dreezy’s
    I’ma start beefing with Cole, Drizzy and Cornrow Kenny
    Or you could pick your favorite rapper, and he gon’ be pouring out Henny
    I got a bitch from Minne-Apolis pack a semi
    Bang the ratchet at Denny’s and fly herself back to Philly
    She got a couple mill and she don’t even know Meek
    And ever since that nigga snitched on me we just don’t speak
    See that shit you got with Drake is like a slow leak
    Blood’ll be dripping like Niagara if I poke Meek
    Nicki won’t get no sleep, I’m coming through at 4 a.m
    Four deep, to leave his dead body on the soaked sheets
    It could happen lowkey
    You better have Ross call me or you gon’ be eye level with a roach feet
    This ain’t a diss, nigga
    This is all lives matter except this nigga’s
    This 1992 shit ain’t no new shit
    We in that all black you won’t know who Blood and who Crip
    With guns big enough to sink a fucking cruise ship
    Fuck around and be a news clip with them loose lips
    My nigga Drizzy packed you out and you ain’t do shit
    This the Golden State and my shooters ain’t on no hoop shit
    Nigga, you know that I’ll snap you like a toothpick
    And snitching on niggas ain’t never been no cool shit
    And I’ve been wanting to give Nicki this pool stick
    So tell your lil’ vivrant thing come fuck with Q-Tip
    We know where you live, nigga, you better move quick
    And start thinking twice about who you hop in the coupe with