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nice - game lyrics

(intro)
ayo earv…
f-ck is wrong with these n-gg-s man?
talkin’ ’bout i ain’t a f-ckin’ mc…
i’ve been at this sh-t for seven years n-gg-.
eight times platinum n-gg-…
two bentleys.
one lambo, and three houses later motherf-cker, w-ssup!

(verse 1)
nah, this ain’t no f-ckin’ dre beat, i got this from earv gotti
game back on his sh-t, i’m enemies with urr’body
game cook crack, transform to yayo
the new suge knight n-gg-, minus the k, yo!
i keep a candle like mariah, i’m so fire
when i step in the club – get low! – like flo rider
’cause i’m a pimp
you can tell by the limp
when i s-s-s-step aside the twenty-six inch
you see my rims, they bigger than bow wow
get money, f-ck b-tches, that’s what i’m about now
the phantom – ugly, the bentley – r-t-rded
the kicks still chuck taylor, the jacket is a starter
i beg you pardon, n-gg- we can get it started
if you ain’t nas or the n-gg- on the third carter
my happy face is kenneth supreme mugshot
when it’s goin’ down, who gon’ stop the blood clott

(chorus newz)
throw yo’ hands up it’s that gangsta sh-t
all the homies goin’ crazy when they b-mp my sh-t
go ahead and hate on my click
got a couple words for you n-gg-s, suck my d-ck
you strapped – that’s right
g-ngb-ngin’ – fo’ life
little drama – that’s life
hit ’em up! – nice!
it’s that gangsta sh-t
all the homies goin’ crazy when they b-mp my sh-t

(verse 2)
n-gg- i’m’a throw back, you already know that
got swag and i’m street, picture the n-gg- hold strap
and it’s the rock, right in my f-ckin’ sock
die from my chain why? so i can go f-ck with pac
before i go, i shoot it out with the cops
hit one for sean bell, then bleed on the block
like big did, i play with toys like a big kid
got a snuffed nose, call it big tig
you are not f-ckin’ with game, he crazy
and he’s boys comin’ straight outta’ compton, baby
my sixteens, it’s me, you know what i mean
headin’ to the airport, my flow flyin’ in from queens
accompanied by my b-tch, flyin’ in with the things
my shorty is a ten,?
the life of a gangsta in cali is too short
so i might as well find me a burb in new york

(verse 3)
man you know, i dont give a f-ck, and i dont give a sh-t
any drama im locked on, like a red nose pit
keep shootin’ them cap guns, with the red nose tips
ask some cali n-gg-s come out and dead those strips
don’t give f-ck if you tuff n-gg-, or you buff n-gg-
my fo-five weigh three pounds and it will snuff n-gg-s
hop out the truck, with the guns so long
that the bullets jump out, and ask whats goin’ on?
what the f-ck can i say, i grew up a b-st-rd
got sick of the impala, so i threw up for aston
i pop big sh-t, and i keep my wrist slick
my entourage shine like the diamond district
i got a rolex, a real big rolex
with so many rocks, the africans are tryin’ protest
bully of the block, why?
’cause they got me top five
it’s fo’ n-gg-s better than me, n-gg- stop lyin’

(outro)
newz…
n-gg-s better know what the f-ck they dealin’ with
when they dealin’ with what they f-ckin’ dealin’ with.
you dealin’ with a f-ckin’ animal man…
gotti’ll tell you n-gg-…
both the guys n-gg-…
you can bring john gotti back too n-gg-…
he’ll tell you n-gg-…
i’m gangsta n-gg-…
i was murdered inc before anything man…
black wall street, murder inc man…
before i was a dr. dre i was a earv gotti n-gg-…
when i was runnin’ around with p. diddy in atlanta.
slappin’ -sses n-gg-…
mario winans know what it is n-gg-…
mix b-tches all up in the? on p street n-gg-…
been gettin’ money n-gg-…
seven years strong n-gg-…
two platinum alb-ms n-gg-…
’bout to be three…
ey n-gg-…
that’s a motherf-ckin’ hip-hop ménage á trois, b-tch!

- game lyrics

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