Nigga it's Chuck Taylor AKA f*ck haters,
I Jambanate ramsy niggaz and duck tape em,
Drive em off on they baby mama lyin but naked,
Leave his mama in the rockin chair frustrated,
And before the DA lock me in jail,
I'll send a family of hundred g's in the mail,
Got some mami and lawyer that'll eat the bail,
Them ain't my prints on the desert eagle shells,
Now I'm back on the block, with a pack full of rocks,
I'll post with the heat, I'm shaq on the block,
Stay strapped on the block like suicide bombers,
And you know in the hood it's hard to find corners,
So lay there and die till your blood turn purple,
And your white t look like a lakers away jersey,
I'm rich game bitch 10 thousand in my dickies,
I'm the rubberband man without the braids fitted,
New error brim low, nigga it's ya kinfolk
Candy paint 64, 20 inch rims go,
22 in my boot 24s on the rover,
I'm under 26 yeah the boy takin over,
Got roc on my wrist can't forget about hova,
2Pac in the whip ballad of a dead soulja,
If I go out tomorrow I'm leavin with gun smokin,
But never bury a g without air ones on em,
Custom kick rocka, thug hip hoppa,
Yeah we want Eazy and we love big poppa,
So much even though he's deceased,
Every nigga in NY rock a jesus piece,
In the city of angels I will bang and mangle you,
You like RnB I'll let the pastor sang for you,
Nah homie I ain't talking bout Mase,
I'm talking bout a closed coffin cause I blow off your face
The Game - Drop It Like Its Hot Freestyle Lyrics
The Game - Drop It Like Its Hot Freestyle Lyrics
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Nigga it's Chuck Taylor AKA f*ck haters,
I Jambanate ramsy niggaz and duck tape em,
Drive em off on they baby mama lyin but naked,
Leave his mama in the rockin chair frustrated,
And before the DA lock me in jail,
I'll send a family of hundred g's in the mail,
Got some mami and lawyer that'll eat the bail,
Them ain't my prints on the desert eagle shells,
Now I'm back on the block, with a pack full of rocks,
I'll post with the heat, I'm shaq on the block,
Stay strapped on the block like suicide bombers,
And you know in the hood it's hard to find corners,
So lay there and die till your blood turn purple,
And your white t look like a lakers away jersey,
I'm rich game bitch 10 thousand in my dickies,
I'm the rubberband man without the braids fitted,
New error brim low, nigga it's ya kinfolk
Candy paint 64, 20 inch rims go,
22 in my boot 24s on the rover,
I'm under 26 yeah the boy takin over,
Got roc on my wrist can't forget about hova,
2Pac in the whip ballad of a dead soulja,
If I go out tomorrow I'm leavin with gun smokin,
But never bury a g without air ones on em,
Custom kick rocka, thug hip hoppa,
Yeah we want Eazy and we love big poppa,
So much even though he's deceased,
Every nigga in NY rock a jesus piece,
In the city of angels I will bang and mangle you,
You like RnB I'll let the pastor sang for you,
Nah homie I ain't talking bout Mase,
I'm talking bout a closed coffin cause I blow off your face
I Jambanate ramsy niggaz and duck tape em,
Drive em off on they baby mama lyin but naked,
Leave his mama in the rockin chair frustrated,
And before the DA lock me in jail,
I'll send a family of hundred g's in the mail,
Got some mami and lawyer that'll eat the bail,
Them ain't my prints on the desert eagle shells,
Now I'm back on the block, with a pack full of rocks,
I'll post with the heat, I'm shaq on the block,
Stay strapped on the block like suicide bombers,
And you know in the hood it's hard to find corners,
So lay there and die till your blood turn purple,
And your white t look like a lakers away jersey,
I'm rich game bitch 10 thousand in my dickies,
I'm the rubberband man without the braids fitted,
New error brim low, nigga it's ya kinfolk
Candy paint 64, 20 inch rims go,
22 in my boot 24s on the rover,
I'm under 26 yeah the boy takin over,
Got roc on my wrist can't forget about hova,
2Pac in the whip ballad of a dead soulja,
If I go out tomorrow I'm leavin with gun smokin,
But never bury a g without air ones on em,
Custom kick rocka, thug hip hoppa,
Yeah we want Eazy and we love big poppa,
So much even though he's deceased,
Every nigga in NY rock a jesus piece,
In the city of angels I will bang and mangle you,
You like RnB I'll let the pastor sang for you,
Nah homie I ain't talking bout Mase,
I'm talking bout a closed coffin cause I blow off your face