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    Mcgruff What Part Of The Game

    MP3
    4:53
    6.40 MB
    192 kbps
    2

    Добавлена 20 февраля 2008 Пользователем AND1

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    Текст Песни What Part Of The Game
    Текст Песни What Part Of The Game




    (feat. CamRon, I-Born, Panama P.I.)



    [Panama P.I.]

    Im the greatest rapper in the world, you who tryin to kid man

    I will slam dunk on your big man

    Been rappin for years, crackin them bears, the sound of platinum chairs

    Predict future cash and its near, my speech is dittly

    I bust shots until the heat gets heavy

    Fuck bitches until the sheets get sweaty

    Beats and melodies, will make me blink

    Ill pull my shank out, and give a warriors cry

    If you aint down wit my crew, all you die

    You can tell Im real, by lookin in the ball of my eye

    I will get some cream from it, one day, your baby and my baby

    Can my some dough on Teem Summit

    Countin the loot, fountain the youth, the young God

    Heres the inside thug, like a Marmashad

    Some wanna have emotions and kill me

    Put the toast to my kidney, when I speak most of them feel me

    So, keep my name off ya breath

    Fore my nigga Gruff take the chain off ya chest

    All guaranteeing, blaow, take the brain off ya neck

    Off the top of the dough, one shot and youll blow

    Fuckin wit Panama P.I., guarantee Ill take ya outta ya zone



    [CamRon]

    Aiyo me and my nigga Hais, ride, lay loose

    Case ya try to play Zeus, got the tray deuce

    Hidin right inside the bubble, face goose

    Not to quickly to make to make news

    Ima ace deuce, caught cases, I got Gotti and O.J. juice

    And my crew, youre very stackless, very cock now

    Phase of every Rocky, turn your caviar ass into, um

    Chicken teriyaki, Spanish nigga try to front on me

    I say papi Rocky, wish he would of shot me

    Cuz I dont care if he frail or cock D.

    When I got the glock, B, cant stop me

    And no judicial system could affix me, try to lock me

    Over papes on mine, Mr. D.A., someone to lace ya dime

    And tell P.H. that the camera job, come on, thats a waste of mine

    Cuz I got my girl Curry, live in D.C.

    Work the spring court, you know for me, that just scary

    How Harlem nigga do, get in the building bitch hurry

    Before my girl see, back to top, so she can give me one on jury

    Says hung, got her sprung, she fell that Im young

    Her little toy boy, make her lick my ass wit a tongue

    Shes so smart, shes dumb, but I keep, tomorrow aint promised

    Now I might need a one way flight to St. Thomas

    And at the same time I got a JAG fetish

    And who knows, I might have bad credit

    I cant borrow from niggas I ass betted

    Go to your girl, I pop my truck faster

    Dont make me Flex on you ghetto style like Funkmaster



    [Chorus: Panama P.I.]

    You got money, what it look like?

    You got crack, what it cook like?

    You got a song, wit the hook like?

    Word is bond, when P.I. hit the microphone, niggas took mics

    You got crack, what it cook like?

    You got a song, wit the hook like?

    You got some money, what it look like?

    What part of the game is that?

    You fuck around wit my track, blaow, part of the flaming stat



    [I-Born]

    I live the God knowledge, my book of life, he read like twice

    Five percent shine, today the grease like, my attributes like

    Paretic chrome, I thrown, throw it at your dome, blown

    It be known, like Sa Salasi clone, connect wit one zone

    Cybernetic, verbal buck slang, king ebonic

    Nickname Farad, all of ya dude, rock me Muhammad

    I came swift, wit off as the shit, they couldnt catch it

    Define this, got drawn so swift, couldnt detect it

    Thug covert, sip Scotch drink, just like an Irish

    Move like the infamous full blown antivirus

    Apollus, mad Olympic, fragile fitness

    Supreme gymnast, ancient decent, homey scriptures

    Equilibrium, catch me at the Wimbledon, thug gentlemen

    Guess jeans, Wu shirts, construction Timberland

    Youre nobody wit nothing and your name shall be Nathan

    Who you facin, slugs blazin the amazin



    [McGruff]

    Aiyo check it, I used to live reckless

    Snatch kids necklace, nigga respect this

    A nigga catch this, blaow, trigga specialist

    Is your death wish, leave you rib and chestless

    Gun ho, real life thug, every one know

    From the Bumjo, to the kids, to Colombo

    My niggas locked down doin state, did you rumble?

    Twenty five to L, on the humble, real thug shit

    Plug shit, catch you, wouldnt dare fuck wit

    Care rugged, from the skulls down to the Timbs

    Surroundin your Benz, wit niggas houndin your gems

    Yo pump this jam in your joint

    All my thug niggas cruisin wit the mamas on points

    City wise guys, gritty high guys, pretty mamas

    I even make boricua, shake the titty tatas

    Harlem World slugger, watch it explode like Pearl Harbor

    Screw ma, get a girls Vodka

    And get them hotter, slide em off, twist em proper

    Yo Im a sex fiend, fuckin in my 400 hundred Lex ring

    Flex cream, presidential rolly wit Gets gleam



    [Chorus x2]
    [ What Part Of The Game Lyrics ]


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