The Game

The Game - Rolling Stone

rate me

(Verse)

Nigga pull up, hop out the cutlass, tell a nigga fuck this

I ain’t toleratin no fuck shit

Wifey at the halfway house, with a bitch with her ass hanging halfway out

I aint bout no games nigga, that’s my name

Gold grill with a blunt hangin halfway out

Nigga can’t tell me shit unless he got hits and then he can tell me how them hash weigh out

Crib laid out like a pimp here, your bitch there on a bed made out

Nigga talkin that fuck shit, we just spread out

Boy get yo whole motherfuckin hood K’d out

I was born in the CP, Tommy on my lap

If it’s cheese in that hoe you can find me in the trap

But when it’s snap, give a fuck about a rap

Yuck me and Buck back, 7-11 on the crack

See a Cadillac? Get the fuck up outta there

Grand Theft Auto on a bitch ass nigga

Getting 3 up, bring a truck up outta that

Then pop bottles, let me hit that nigga

Roll blunts the size of this mack

I’m in love with the kush, ain’t givin that back, trill nigga

Smoke til my lungs collapse

Pass out with a 5th of that cognac

Real niggas gon recognize this G shit

Don’t come at me with no peace shit

That peace shit, that was ‘89

I get yo ass hit with 89’s

Motherfucker fore the cops get down, nigga J’s comin off

Drive off with the K’s runnin off

Fly home, tuck my sons into bed

Kiss my daughter on the head and leave a note by her motherfuckin bed

Hook:

Papa was a rolling stone

Wherever he laid his hat was his home

And when he died all he left us was alone

Papa was a rolling stone, my son

Wherever he laid his hat was his home

And when he died all he left us was alone

(Verse)

Ain’t shit changed with me nigga

Been around the world with the same AK

Same clip with mo bodies on it

Then hook yo hood with this beef shit

Lookin around but nobody want it

Niggas know what’s up with Buck

Get a couple murder cases comin up

Shoot first!

Molly poppin, that’s young niggas

All they really wanna do now is so guns

Movin on and I’m gone

Papa got a brand new home

And I’m not lookin back, I’m just cookin crack

Until I get back where I belong

My bitch leave brains all on my seat

But these niggas’ blood all on my hands

Been ridin up and down these streets

Fuckin as many niggas I can

Shotgun shell still in my leg

Got a few racks still on my head

Gotta stay strapped now, they handicapped now

Fuck niggas who’s stealin my bread

Had to buy a graveyard for just trappers

Ain’t got a funeral home for you rappers

Know I can play the role with you actors

When we gon get enough to come after

Now send it nigga, I’m going Kendrick nigga

You can start the shit but I’mma end it nigga

If you getting money better spend it nigga

This real life, no pretending nigga

Back at it again, fresh out the pen

Remember back then? They had to let me in

And yall niggas talkin bout cashin out

I need a trash bag to put the cash in

Hook:

Papa was a rollin stone

Wherever he laid his hat was his home

And when he died all he left us was alone

Papa was a rollin’ stone, my son

Wherever he laid his hat was his home

And when he died all he left us was alone

(Verse)

They told me papa was a rolling stone

Like Mick Jagger keep bitches round they whips, Charlie hold it holmes

You ain’t a poet cus you wrote a poem

I am lyrically until these spirits really higher on the totem pole

I get the cheese, cheddar mozzarella

American, moderate, jack, swizz, feta, mars the prevalone

I bring a nigga down limb by limb

Blood sweat tears molecules flesh then show my chromosomes

Jim star, raise it fo yo dome

With a hole in yo face shot just like Macaulay Culkin Home Alone

Tote the chrome and spark blast with a dark mask, tryna pop trash, blowin at yo motor home

I’m on LeBron, catch you bitchin on my block

I’mma knock it out the park

Babe Ruth, go and throw it go

I grab his bones squeeze 3, brought him like DD, you PC no ET in fully home

Guantanamo… all of yall fucked up

Young Buck, roll em holmes

Have a glass of murda, have em grab the burner

I’m so nice, can see these rappers cry so loaners

My way fowl, don’t convert you have a jazz converter

You need bigger hard drives, I’mma crash yo server

I was raised with the killers in a class of burglars

I’ve been the truth in the booth go and ask the jugger

This is annihilation, you niggas violatin, won’t die hatin, getting shots like immunization

I’m sendin vibrations that could shake a wise nation

And if the devil was a liar then you gon die satan

You ever disrespect my brother soldiers

You gon see a bunch of Rolls with tints, throw em in the cellar

Blood on my hands so blood money low

You got blood on yo hands cus you a cutthroat

Hook:

Papa was a rollin stone

Wherever he laid his hat was his home

And when he died all he left us was alone

Papa was a rollin’ stone, my son

Wherever he laid his hat was his home

And when he died all he left us was alone

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