Текст песни The Game f Sky - Put it in the Air
The Game f Sky - Put it in the Air слова песни
[19 second instrumental to open][Sky]Who`s hot, who`s not; I been the hottest thingon the West, ever since the death of TupacKept my crack in clear capsules with blue topsAnd it`s still nothin for me to get you shotYou see him? Yup, the same ol` pimpSky baller, and ain`t nuttin changed but my limpNatural born player, mine not a lame or a simpThe world is mine, you see my name on a blimpStay Dolce Gabbana`d down, play the Bahamas nowYouse a donkey, I`ma piranha clownI keep thick bread, in the pockets of my sweatsWhile I`m drivin I get head in the cockpit of my `VetteAnd my game is sharp as a mosquito`s needleAs far as the charts, young S be`s the BeatlesPurple haze smoke in the urr, blow in the windThe rims right there when I stop they still go and they spinI can teach you how to stunt boy, and pop that trunk boyThem city slickers ain`t never been punks boySo fix your ice grill, and your mean mugUnless you wanna feel a few M-16 slugs[Chorus 2X: The Game]Nigga you got a blunt then put it in the airNigga you got a gun then put it in the airNigga you from a gang then put in in the airPlay 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 secondI won`t pull this 45 and put your stomach where your neck isIf I tell you kiss the sky better respect itOr get yo` ass hog-tied, butt-ass nakedI`m doin this for Eazy, like it or notI wouldn`t even be rappin if Eric Wright wouldn`ta droppedI love this shit, I work and I`m goodI ain`t on corner fuckers but I`m still in the hoodI`m poised to go platinum, that`s what the magazines sayinFuck The Source, I got my own magazines manI call her Shirley, she got a 32 round clipAnd she love hangin out wit`chu girliesI`m like them Philly nigs that come through "Early"Through your front door without knockin like Mr. FurleyIt`s just me, you and the semi - "Three`s Company"You want the crown, you be U.G.K. like Bun B[Chorus][Sky]I rock jewels, cop tools, I will not loseA million miles a minute is how my block movesI stay in the fast lane, never fakin, cheddar chasinI`m in the game for the cash mayneAnd bitches play this in they Benzes, Jeeps and G.O.`sThey say I`m arrogant and got a big egoBut they still love to swallow me upAnd every hotel suite, they wanna follow me upBut I ain`t gon` put my dick in for free, nah maYou want the kid then you gotta pay this pimpin a feeAnd ain`t no champagne left, so let`s toast `gnacSky baller and Game `bout to bring the West coast backI`m on that get dough shit, that Frank War{?} pimpin that ho shitIn Cali smokin that `dro shitI still push fishscale, and china whiteA lil` nigga with a big gun and I ain`t tryin to fight[Chorus]