Ghostface Killah - Game Time lyrics

rate me

(feat. Trife Da God & Tommy Whispers)<br />

<br />

[Intro: Trife Da Good]<br />

Mmm-hmm... yo we going in, nigga<br />

<br />

[Chorus 2X: Trife Da God]<br />

It's game time, gear the lacing of your kicks<br />

When I bang mine, ain't no escaping out this bitch<br />

And your chain's mine, kidnap the bracelet off your wrist<br />

Heard it through the grapevine, that you was hating on the click<br />

<br />

[Trife Da God]<br />

I'm not Chris Tuck', but I'll tuck them ratchets<br />

When I was young, I used to beat off, and fuck the mattress<br />

And I promise you, step out of line, see what that llama do<br />

Demolish you, rip through your chest, hit your abdominal<br />

My hammer hold twelve like a dozen of eggs<br />

And your man'll get bodied over something he said<br />

I'm not a blood, but I rock nothing but red<br />

He got his button on, I heard son fuck with the feds<br />

Why niggaz wanna fuck with my bread, like I ain't starving<br />

When I reign, I leave niggaz in Payne, but I ain't Martin<br />

If I ain't gone, I'm gonna move the weight by the carton<br />

On the plate carving, find me out of sight like a martian<br />

And I'm bobbing and weaving, dodging the precint<br />

Hit I-95, blowing cigars on the Decon<br />

Even when I'm fucked up, you know the God'll be eating<br />

It's all good, my hood is like the Garden of Eden<br />

<br />

[Chorus 2X]<br />

<br />

[Tommy Whispers]<br />

We make hits, classical shit, spit acid<br />

Turn bodies into ashes, T.M.F., we the masters<br />

Father to your style, so you can't be called a bastard<br />

Held fast in close casket, on the verge of collapsion<br />

Demolition derby, car crashing, heart smashed in<br />

Brutaly, I beast on beats, Broadstreet, Staten<br />

Usually I creep black heat, in dusty clothes<br />

Then drift from rusty 'fro's<br />

Communicate