The Game, Ikay, MYA - Still Me lyrics
MYΛ dúo musical [Argentina]
[The Game, Ikay, MYA - Still Me lyrics]
Yow! A weh di fuck do dem?
Black Wallstreet, Cry Nation, yeah!
From Kingston to Compton… Ha ha
Yow Game! Weh yuh deh pon? Warminister!
Ha ha… Dem fi know, yeah!
Game! fuck wid dem
Straight outta the motherfuckin pissy
Hallway in the projects
To park in a four door Bentley on my set
Same hood
Same motherfuckin steps I sat on and
Took the plastic off of "Life After Death"
Bangin, boning Biggie Biggie i did a 360
The Aftermath for that is the
Nigga 50 ain’t wit me
No hard feelings, we both made millions
You can hate me or love me
But nigga I spit real shit
Like I'm comatose, tell the Doc I'm sick
Before "Detox"
Let me take my last chronic hit
Now I am gangsta rap
Inhale the weed smoke and coughed
Up five platinum plaques
So I’m a let the nigga Dr dre hit
Next time I have dreams of
Fuckin an R&B bitch
I don't make love, I make hit's
I put a condom on and stuff my
Dick in this Hip Hop shit
Feels good gangsta
Still hood gangsta
I’m that six figure nigga
Who got the word from KRS-ONE and
Stole the Blueprint from Jigga
Niggaz yellin Game did this, Game did that
Game ain’t do shit but bring
The motherfuckin West Coast back
I hear the whisperin goin on in the hood
I sent a motherfuckin Hallmark card to Suge
That nigga know that we all good
So you can catch a cab to Hell
Wit them death threats I'm already dead
I put the 38 revolver to my own fuckin head
Before I let the shit eat my conscience
Ain’t a nigga in the world could tell
Me I can't come thru Compton
Before I retire my Converse, I'll ride the
Train thru NYC with the terrorist bombers
Somebody tell my mama I'm crazy
Poppa was a Rolling Stone so that
Makes me a crack baby
I'm in rehab three times a week
Because I'm a motherfuckin fiend for
A Dr dre beat
Feels good gangsta
Still hood gangsta
Uh, Yea! Uh, it’s da motherfuckin I dot
Jamaica on my back
Ten pounds of weed on my block
Cops coming, hide that
I’m so fuckin blessed
Straight off da River, so fucking fresh
Heyy! Mi got mi chopper pon mi
Pussyhole! Suck yuh mother, tek yuh
Eyes off mi rapper money
Got respect fi di shottas only
Stick to the streets like cheese to macaroni
A weh di fuck do dem
Five shots, a duppy dem
Glock innah mi hand, mi a go fi dem
Big dog never scared ah di puppy dem
I got no love fi dem, got slugs fi dem
I be on some street shit
Weed in my eyes so I can’t see shit
Be on some G shit
Let dem niggaz talk, run up on you
Wit da Hawk and squeeze clips
They wanna know where da nigga from
Kingston Jamaica got dem niggaz bombed
I’m never wrong
I am the the street motherfuckas, here I am
Feels good gangsta
Still hood gangsta
Black Wallstreet, Cry Nation, yeah!
From Kingston to Compton… Ha ha
Yow Game! Weh yuh deh pon? Warminister!
Ha ha… Dem fi know, yeah!
Game! fuck wid dem
Straight outta the motherfuckin pissy
Hallway in the projects
To park in a four door Bentley on my set
Same hood
Same motherfuckin steps I sat on and
Took the plastic off of "Life After Death"
Bangin, boning Biggie Biggie i did a 360
The Aftermath for that is the
Nigga 50 ain’t wit me
No hard feelings, we both made millions
You can hate me or love me
But nigga I spit real shit
Like I'm comatose, tell the Doc I'm sick
Before "Detox"
Let me take my last chronic hit
Now I am gangsta rap
Inhale the weed smoke and coughed
Up five platinum plaques
So I’m a let the nigga Dr dre hit
Next time I have dreams of
Fuckin an R&B bitch
I don't make love, I make hit's
I put a condom on and stuff my
Dick in this Hip Hop shit
Feels good gangsta
Still hood gangsta
I’m that six figure nigga
Who got the word from KRS-ONE and
Stole the Blueprint from Jigga
Niggaz yellin Game did this, Game did that
Game ain’t do shit but bring
The motherfuckin West Coast back
I hear the whisperin goin on in the hood
I sent a motherfuckin Hallmark card to Suge
That nigga know that we all good
So you can catch a cab to Hell
Wit them death threats I'm already dead
I put the 38 revolver to my own fuckin head
Before I let the shit eat my conscience
Ain’t a nigga in the world could tell
Me I can't come thru Compton
Before I retire my Converse, I'll ride the
Train thru NYC with the terrorist bombers
Somebody tell my mama I'm crazy
Poppa was a Rolling Stone so that
Makes me a crack baby
I'm in rehab three times a week
Because I'm a motherfuckin fiend for
A Dr dre beat
Feels good gangsta
Still hood gangsta
Uh, Yea! Uh, it’s da motherfuckin I dot
Jamaica on my back
Ten pounds of weed on my block
Cops coming, hide that
I’m so fuckin blessed
Straight off da River, so fucking fresh
Heyy! Mi got mi chopper pon mi
Pussyhole! Suck yuh mother, tek yuh
Eyes off mi rapper money
Got respect fi di shottas only
Stick to the streets like cheese to macaroni
A weh di fuck do dem
Five shots, a duppy dem
Glock innah mi hand, mi a go fi dem
Big dog never scared ah di puppy dem
I got no love fi dem, got slugs fi dem
I be on some street shit
Weed in my eyes so I can’t see shit
Be on some G shit
Let dem niggaz talk, run up on you
Wit da Hawk and squeeze clips
They wanna know where da nigga from
Kingston Jamaica got dem niggaz bombed
I’m never wrong
I am the the street motherfuckas, here I am
Feels good gangsta
Still hood gangsta