Game, The – Money Over Bitches

(feat. JT)

[The Game]

Huh, niggaz think they got the game sewed, yeah right

I’m air tight, fresh in them Air Nikes

If the Navi outside, I might be there

Black hoodie, black 9, black wifey airs

Rock guns like Caddy trunks, keep a spare

You see the lump under the Iceberg fleece and gear

And when the beef cook, I’ma put the piece to your head

And if you see a white truck that mean yo’ sheets is dead

Then I’m goin goin, back back

to the block to dump the bucket and jump in the drop

Niggaz know I’m good with the glock, they call me Chick Hearns

Cause if the game on knot, I’m callin the shots

I’ll wear a shiny suit for a minute like I’m The LOX

Then get gangster with a swap meet bag and a Jordan box

And when I die, bury me with the glock, and a bucket of shells

In case niggaz want drama in hell

[JT]

Yeah, so when Compton niggaz and Fillmoe niggaz get together

Shit happens mayne; real talk from ya nigga Fig’

Doin it big and don’t wanna split yo’ wig

[Chorus: repeat 2X]

I’ll give you anything you ask fo’ – money over bitches

Tell me what’chu blast fo’ – fuck around with snitches

What you had to smash fo’ – niggaz tried to play me man

(1) Anything you ask fo’ – all about this Bay game

(2) Anything you ask fo’ – representin Bay game

[JT]

I be the boy with the most cabbage, pluck strings like I’m Lenny Kravitz

I’m in the streets where they goin savage

One, two, we dance on the rooftop

Let the Coupe ghostride then we come to two stops

Figga eight’n by the corner sto’

Niggarali from killer Cali you gotta let ’em know

Yeahh, ya hit me on my Sidekick

Inventory pilin up, niggaz tryin to buy shit

They got me diggin in my files

Pro Tools, ADAT tapes and big sounds

Jumpin on a plane, jumpin out a taxi cab

Stackin up this fettucini now these niggaz hella mad

“Fuck that nigga! He got another album on the board?”

Damn right, another album on the board

Fuck the bullshit, the Figgarali don’t play

I represent the whole Bay every motherfuckin day

[Chorus]

[Verse Three]

Count rubber band grands

I’m out big on the under, with my fam bam

And I, hover the lands

To expand, I’m from the gutter grime and the sand

No jams the flam’s all busted

The dames want the bucks when, they see you stuffed in

your pockets, ’til they get them some

But testin my pocket, only gets you none

Cause I, got a pimp mentality

The scrubs wanna eat shrimp, and get my salary

They ain’t knowin I’m tight laced in my shoestrings

Hate the way I’m flowin on the mic, cause I do gleam

All types of baguettes and bezels

We shine like life’s {?} rebels

2005, me and my crew just pile the pots

Move like the ice loose, pimp these thangs to watch

[Chorus]