The Game - Body Bags lyrics

It's murderer
Is 07 shit
We runnin' through summers
In dual hummers
And tell them my crew coming for war

Ay yooooooooooooooo!
I can't let the day go
Without lettin' the K go
Now watch his face blow, YAYO!
Heard you hidin' in the big apple
Better keep hidin' for them
Puerto Ricans kidnap you
9-3 gangsta ties
Haitans down in Miami (zoe gang)
Yeah, them Haitins down in Miami
Fat Joe don't fuck with you
Nas don't like you
So who they gonna blame when
The long nose snipe you
Potato on the muzzle, black tape on the grip


We in the A Team van with
Black tape on your bitch
She gonna tell us where you at
We gonna twist that dro'
And just wait 'til that rat
Come out the that hole
No, the streets ain't safe
When we see him we gonna eat that face
No body we gonna beat that case
Yeah, it's on again
Two shots of patron I'm in
Drive slow and let the
Motherfuckin' chrome extend

Out in the streets they call it murder
(murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill)
(You can't fuck with the real)
Out in the streets they call it murder
(murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill)
(Nigga, don't cross the real)
They call it murd... They call it
Murd... They call it murd
(Murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill)
They call it murd
(You can't fuck with the real)
They call it murd... They
Call it murd... They
Call it murd... They call it murd
(Nigga, don't cross the real)

What type of bitch niggas put
His hands on kids
(Homo)
Pull up that black van on his (Nope)
We don't do the kid slap
We do the kid snatchin'
Eyewitness news, there's been a kidnappin'
Feed 'em real good
Takin' home to play with Harlem
Sit by the phone
Just wait it's your daddy callin'
Naah, we don't get down like that
But 50's momma we'll put you
In the ground like that
Cuuuurtisss
Tryin' to make peace with Dipset
But you ain't even address the
Beef with Jim yet
It's on now, better call dr. Ben and Russell
Set up a peace treaty or go get some muscle
Call the lighty brothers
Call all your lil' flunkies
Call the snitch hotline and
Get the G-Unit monkeys
Call the cops
I'm still 100 miles an runnin'
Then call the God and tell
Him your ass is comin'

Out in the streets they call it murder
(murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill)
(You can't fuck with the real)
Out in the streets they call it murder
(murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill)
(Never cross the real)
They call it murd... They call it
Murd... They call it murd
(Murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill)
They call it murd
(You can't fuck with the real)
They call it murd... They
Call it murd... They
Call it murd... They call it murd
(Never cross the real)

This ain't "Ether", nah
This ain't "Hit 'em up"
This is a lot of dead bodies
Who gonna pick them up
We just shot the corner
Who gonna drive the truck
Fuck the whole G-Unit who lied to Buck
Fuck Spider too, now that's for Big Fase
I know where you countin' your sheeps
I'll have some Crips waitin'
Youtube banger, tell me how that clip taste
You kiss Lakisha in that mouth
Tell me how my dick taste
I got the crown nigga, it's going down nigga
And Los Angelesss - it's my town nigga!
I got a place where bodies
Don't get found nigga
Where the dead sleep and ghost
Don't make a sound nigga
The real 50 Cent, he knew Jimmy Henchmen
The real Jimmy Henchmen
Look at them niggas flinchin'
We ain't gonna do shit
I'll have your crew sit (Nigga)
So play like them is toy guns
And this is just music

Out in the streets they call it murder
(murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill)
(You can't fuck with the real)
Out in the streets they call it murder
(murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill)
(Don't ever cross the real)
They call it murd... They call it
Murd... They call it murd
(Murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill)
They call it murd
(Niggas can't fuck with the real)
They call it murd... They
Call it murd... They
Call it murd... They call it murd
(Don't fuck with the real)

It's Blackwall Street nigga!
Is 07, we can't be fuck with
Try and die, motherfuckers
I run the world, it's on!