[Sky]
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
[Chorus 2X: The Game]
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
[The Game]
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
[Chorus]
[Sky]
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
[Chorus]

- Volver a las Canciones del Album West Coast Resurrection

- Volver a los Discos de The Game