The Game, Sky - Put It In The Air lyrics
[The Game, Sky - Put It In The Air lyrics]
Who's hot
Who's not; I been the hottest thing
On the West, ever since the death of Tupac
Kept my crack in clear
Capsules with blue tops
And it's still nothin for me to get you shot
You see him? Yup, the same ol' pimp
Sky baller
And ain't nuttin changed but my limp
Natural born player
Mine not a lame or a simp
The world is mine, you see my name on a blimp
Stay Dolce Gabbana'd down
Play the Bahamas now
Youse a donkey, I'ma piranha clown
I keep thick bread
In the pockets of my sweats
While I'm drivin I get head in
The cockpit of my 'Vette
And my game is sharp as a mosquito's needle
As far as the charts
Young S be's the Beatles
Purple haze smoke in the urr
Blow in the wind
The rims right there when I stop
They still go and they spin
I can teach you how to stunt boy
And pop that trunk boy
Them city slickers ain't never
Been punks boy
So fix your ice grill, and your mean mug
Unless you wanna feel a few M-16 slugs
Nigga you got a blunt then put it in the air
Nigga you got a gun then put it in the air
Nigga you from a gang then put in in the air
Play with Killa Cali if you want
Muh'fuckers
I ain't got no time for fake ones
So don't think for a second
I won't pull this 45 and put
Your stomach where your neck is
If I tell you kiss the sky better respect it
Or get yo' ass hog-tied, butt-ass naked
I'm doin this for Eazy, like it or not
I wouldn't even be rappin if
Eric Wright wouldn'ta dropped
I love this shit, I work and I'm good
I ain't on corner fuckers but
I'm still in the hood
I'm poised to go platinum
That's what the magazines sayin
Fuck The Source, I got my own magazines man
I call her Shirley, she got a 32 round clip
And she love hangin out wit'chu girlies
I'm like them Philly nigs
That come through "Early"
Through your front door without
Knockin like Mr. Furley
It's just me
You and the semi - "Three's Company"
You want the crown, you be U.G.K. like Bun B
I rock jewels, cop tools, I will not lose
A million miles a minute is
How my block moves
I stay in the fast lane, never fakin
Cheddar chasin
I'm in the game for the cash mayne
And bitches play this in they Benzes
Jeeps and G.O.'s
They say I'm arrogant and got a big ego
But they still love to swallow me up
And every hotel suite
They wanna follow me up
But I ain't gon' put my dick in for free
Nah ma
You want the kid then you gotta
Pay this pimpin a fee
And ain't no champagne left
So let's toast 'gnac
Sky baller and Game 'bout to
Bring the West coast back
I'm on that get dough shit
That Frank War pimpin that ho shit
In Cali smokin that 'dro shit
I still push fishscale, and china white
A lil' nigga with a big gun
And I ain't tryin to fight
Who's not; I been the hottest thing
On the West, ever since the death of Tupac
Kept my crack in clear
Capsules with blue tops
And it's still nothin for me to get you shot
You see him? Yup, the same ol' pimp
Sky baller
And ain't nuttin changed but my limp
Natural born player
Mine not a lame or a simp
The world is mine, you see my name on a blimp
Stay Dolce Gabbana'd down
Play the Bahamas now
Youse a donkey, I'ma piranha clown
I keep thick bread
In the pockets of my sweats
While I'm drivin I get head in
The cockpit of my 'Vette
And my game is sharp as a mosquito's needle
As far as the charts
Young S be's the Beatles
Purple haze smoke in the urr
Blow in the wind
The rims right there when I stop
They still go and they spin
I can teach you how to stunt boy
And pop that trunk boy
Them city slickers ain't never
Been punks boy
So fix your ice grill, and your mean mug
Unless you wanna feel a few M-16 slugs
Nigga you got a blunt then put it in the air
Nigga you got a gun then put it in the air
Nigga you from a gang then put in in the air
Play with Killa Cali if you want
Muh'fuckers
I ain't got no time for fake ones
So don't think for a second
I won't pull this 45 and put
Your stomach where your neck is
If I tell you kiss the sky better respect it
Or get yo' ass hog-tied, butt-ass naked
I'm doin this for Eazy, like it or not
I wouldn't even be rappin if
Eric Wright wouldn'ta dropped
I love this shit, I work and I'm good
I ain't on corner fuckers but
I'm still in the hood
I'm poised to go platinum
That's what the magazines sayin
Fuck The Source, I got my own magazines man
I call her Shirley, she got a 32 round clip
And she love hangin out wit'chu girlies
I'm like them Philly nigs
That come through "Early"
Through your front door without
Knockin like Mr. Furley
It's just me
You and the semi - "Three's Company"
You want the crown, you be U.G.K. like Bun B
I rock jewels, cop tools, I will not lose
A million miles a minute is
How my block moves
I stay in the fast lane, never fakin
Cheddar chasin
I'm in the game for the cash mayne
And bitches play this in they Benzes
Jeeps and G.O.'s
They say I'm arrogant and got a big ego
But they still love to swallow me up
And every hotel suite
They wanna follow me up
But I ain't gon' put my dick in for free
Nah ma
You want the kid then you gotta
Pay this pimpin a fee
And ain't no champagne left
So let's toast 'gnac
Sky baller and Game 'bout to
Bring the West coast back
I'm on that get dough shit
That Frank War pimpin that ho shit
In Cali smokin that 'dro shit
I still push fishscale, and china white
A lil' nigga with a big gun
And I ain't tryin to fight