The Game

The Game - Put It In The Air

rate me

(feat. Sky)

[19 second instrumental to open]


Who's hot, who's not; I been the hottest thing

on the West, ever since the death of Tupac

Kept my crack in clear capsules with blue tops

And it's still nothin for me to get you shot

You see him? Yup, the same ol' pimp

Sky baller, and ain't nuttin changed but my limp

Natural born player, mine not a lame or a simp

The world is mine, you see my name on a blimp

Stay Dolce Gabbana'd down, play the Bahamas now

Youse a donkey, I'ma piranha clown

I keep thick bread, in the pockets of my sweats

While I'm drivin I get head in the cockpit of my 'Vette

And my game is sharp as a mosquito's needle

As far as the charts, young S be's the Beatles

Purple haze smoke in the urr, blow in the wind

The rims right there when I stop they still go and they spin

I can teach you how to stunt boy, and pop that trunk boy

Them city slickers ain't never been punks boy

So fix your ice grill, and your mean mug

Unless you wanna feel a few M-16 slugs

[Chorus 2X: The Game]

Nigga you got a blunt then put it in the air

Nigga you got a gun then put it in the air

Nigga you from a gang then put in in the air

Play with Killa Cali if you want, muh'fuckers

[The Game]

I ain't got no time for fake ones, so don't think for a second

I won't pull this 45 and put your stomach where your neck is

If I tell you kiss the sky better respect it

Or get yo' ass hog-tied, butt-ass naked

I'm doin this for Eazy, like it or not

I wouldn't even be rappin if Eric Wright wouldn'ta dropped

I love this shit, I work and I'm good

I ain't on corner fuckers but I'm still in the hood

I'm poised to go platinum, that's what the magazines sayin

Fuck The Source, I got my own magazines man

I call her Shirley, she got a 32 round clip

And she love hangin out wit'chu girlies

I'm like them Philly nigs that come through "Early"

Through your front door without knockin like Mr. Furley

It's just me, you and the semi - "Three's Company"

You want the crown, you be U.G.K. like Bun B



I rock jewels, cop tools, I will not lose

A million miles a minute is how my block moves

I stay in the fast lane, never fakin, cheddar chasin

I'm in the game for the cash mayne

And bitches play this in they Benzes, Jeeps and G.O.'s

They say I'm arrogant and got a big ego

But they still love to swallow me up

And every hotel suite, they wanna follow me up

But I ain't gon' put my dick in for free, nah ma

You want the kid then you gotta pay this pimpin a fee

And ain't no champagne left, so let's toast 'gnac

Sky baller and Game 'bout to bring the West coast back

I'm on that get dough shit, that Frank War{?} pimpin that ho shit

In Cali smokin that 'dro shit

I still push fishscale, and china white

A lil' nigga with a big gun and I ain't tryin to fight


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