The Game, JT the Bigga Figga, Sean T - When Shit Get Thick lyrics

Who really the best rapper
Since 'Pac got killed
I done answered that question when
I copped my deal
Ask yourself when the Game is comin
After next summer
I predict my shit'll drop before
The next Howard homecoming
Now who in the runnin, no one
Ask the niggaz who want it
I got a four-fifth and it just like me
It stay gunnin
Me and my niggaz stay blunted
Fogged up in the 600
Guilty as charged, blunts in the air
Guns in the doors
It's written
Compton niggaz never run from the law
Plus we get Monopoly money with
Hotels and a board
So I'll never see a jail
And I'm allergic to bars
Can't sit behind 'em or drink at 'em
So we travel with ours
Poppin Crist' in the 6
Like we drivin through Mardi Gras
Thinkin 'bout beads and titties as
I roll through the city
And I keep 16 in the clip
And I let 'em all go
Like the Lakers did Ellie, Atty and Nick, huh

When shit get thick, niggaz start dyin
Bodies pop up in dumpsters
Mothers start cryin
Payback come through violent, nigga
We hit blocks, bust shots, leave
Ya whole block silent
Cause
When shit get thick, niggaz start dyin
Bodies pop up in dumpsters
Mothers start cryin
Payback come through violent, nigga
We hit blocks, bust shots
Leave ya whole block silent

No garbage we smoke molta, move big cocoa
We off the train tracks like
The great space coaster
We hit real big and consistant like Sam Sosa
Prepare for war, like United States soldiers
Lock tight and rock right
Like grey eight oz's
I'll be hittin up spots
In them flip Range Rovers
Before you even try to play, foolish all over
Empty out yo' pockets, turn everything over
We ball out cursin yeah we
Keep it the sickest
When we roll by the quads in them Z-66's
Big spittin, grip kitten, that big face greed
Always dirty never clean but
We live like kings
Legendary like Sting
It's a history to follow
But not known for stingin known
For gettin off hollows
Shoot me a glass of Remy
Nah fuck it the whole bottle
And watch me act bad and take off
Full throttle

I'm from a batch where it ain't no cut
We all in
36 on a triple beam scale for meal
Duffle bag on my shoulder my route
Through the back of the jet
To bag up baguettes and everybody know it
I'm the iceholder makin the cut
Never breakin 'em up
My favorite color is rainbowed up
Ain't a coke dealer
But I got bricks for cheap
Hit the lab for a fo' day block, we got heat
You niggaz can't compete when I
Walk in the streets
We Get Low
And there's no idea with the info
It's a rule of thumb, let them dudes a come
I'm cruisin some, 20 inch shoes and some
I'm in the widebody XM-5
All my snakes is live
We check your five
The spot where the tec dies
And everybody gotta holla the name
It's JT from the Fillmoe streets to CPT