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    GAME, THE

    West Coast Resurrection 2005 ©

    Troublesome

    Real gangstas stand up, hold they dick
    Bitch niggaz sit down to piss - what type of nigga is you?
    I'm the type to pack a gat or few
    Pull out and pop, simply cause I'm mad at you


    Y'all niggaz see me when I'm come through; and ain't no denyin
    that them big motherfuckers is twenty-five
    Swayin in and out of white line, six double-oh
    Deuce zeroes, I'm feelin like the streets is mine
    Mines hustle, mucho dinero, heat's confined
    See more fall guys than Foreman/Ali combined
    If there's beef, I'm releasin mine
    And I won't stop bustin 'til them Escalade seats recline
    The kid roll with a greasy nine, come through and blast
    I return shots like Arthur Ashe
    You do the math, ten shots, ten dead bodies
    Fuck bein sorry, it ain't nuttin but a gangsta party
    And I'll make sure ain't a nigga survivin
    Shoot up the ambulance, make sure it ain't a nigga there to revive him
    And the Game ain't tryin to win, fuck the awards
    So keep that little-ass horn, and that Neil Armstrong nigga




    Trust me dog, ain't shit you can put in your rap
    that'll make you a gangsta, you a bitch and that's that
    Niggaz thinkin I retired my Chuck, put the gun back in the holsters
    Cause I weave through traffic in a roaster
    But that don't stop the heater from bangin, or me comin through
    Droppin all y'all niggaz with three in the chamber
    Keep two mac-10's when I'm rollin, one in the changer
    One when I push the button's right next to the cupholder
    Dog we can get this shit over, I got ten on the Game
    Let's say that Lee Harvey crack ya brain
    Ain't gotta look over my shoulder, I'm good with the aim
    Good with the handle and the bullet's good with the bloodstains
    And the coroner's real good with that pickup
    A1 good with the carpet cleaning, they can get the rest of that shit up
    Cause I kill like the hiccups, two at a time
    Put you niggaz next to each other how I do 'em in line




    Come through in a big boy, leave the bullshit at home
    If beef cook then I'm bringin the chrome
    If I die then I'm leavin a clone; but if I live
    through the drama one mo' time then them boys gotta dig
    When I think about who shot me, I listen to Big
    When I'm rhymin on the road, I listen to Jig
    Bump Nas off that purple, sittin on the block
    And when I'm loadin up them clips, I listen to 'Pac
    A semi with me like Eddie Murphy, got mo' guns
    than F-A, B-O, L-O, U-S got jerseys
    And you might get 'em all in the face when shit get thick
    Make the back of your head look like Jerome Kearsey
    And ain't nuttin to do a driveby in the hood
    We ain't even got survival, but I'ma still take that ride
    Bet my drink on it, bet my main squeeze mink on it
    Think this shit a joke? Bet the S-5 pink on it

    2005 ©




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GAME, THE Troublesome lyrics 60119 songs