The Game

Released: January 24, 2011

Songwriter: The Game

Producer: DJ Skee

[Intro]
Hey, yo, let me get some more Patrón
Cherry Coke
Some motherfuckin' Zig-Zags

[Verse 1]
Bad intentions, nigga, fuckin' with the wrong one
Call Dre, tell that nigga I'm on one
Aftermath, nigga, we blaze Cuban cigars
And drive foreign cars, nigga we stars
Fuck bitches at our leisure
Stuff dick inside they throat 'til they have seizures
Hoes down, B's up
Roll the trees up, Smokey Robinson
Get high, start trippin', I like his jewelry, then I'm robbin' son
Fuck a platinum plaque, nigga hood with it
Bouncin' that Impala down the shore like, "What's good with it?"
I'm a made man, I wear J's and
I been around more rocks than a fuckin' caveman
I done sold it and bagged it
I done drove it and crashed it
Fucked my credit up smashin' the Aston
F.Y.I., nigga, I got a magnum
Only time I been punked was by Ashton Kutcher
I'm a motherfuckin' butcher
Leave me around anything white and I'ma cook it
I be all up in the kitchen, no need for an apron, playboy
I'm a professional, I'm cakin', playboy
The last real D-boy in this rap shit
Chrome 24s with the fat lip, call them shits Ras Kass
Rasclart, you fuckin' with the bomb squad
Dismantle any MC for free, you been warned, god
Church, high power
Impala sittin' clean like it took 5 showers
Nigga, I'm the G.A.M.E., so don't you tempt me
Your chest'll be full and my clip'll be empty
I'm simply one of the most raw niggas in this shit
Why you think that I got in this shit?
Paid for my momma house, 'bout 700k
Can't stop smokin' but I'm down to a blunt a day
Yay, I mean yayo
On the block, sun up, sun down, like where the day go?
We come through chargin', nigga, like San Diego
Seventeen chargers, couple of 'em same color but the shit is ok though
'Cause all my niggas on the payroll get caught slippin' and get a halo
And I ain't talking 'bout the Xbox
Niggas let the tech knock
Welcome to the real-life Black Ops
Where it's still fuck the police, white or black cop
And we ain't killin Jonny Law, nigga, give 'em an ass shot
Put him on injured reserve
Tie my number twelves up and then I give him the bird, word
That's how I get down, all you rap niggas floppin'
Who talkin' shit now? Only Drake and Yay worth coppin'
I take a hiatus, spend a little time gamblin' in Vegas
Come back to back runnin' faster than five Lakers
So motherfuck a hater and his family
About to finish the R.E.D. album up in Miami
Lebron can't stand me, 'cause I got this Purp in my cup
24s on the truck, Laker Game, nigga, what?
Ballin, Jim Jones voice, problem with the Byrd Gang?
See the chrome, boy, and my mother fuckin homeboys?
But I'm from Cali not to be confused with Khaled
He say that we the best but I'm the best, that's valid
And before you try to say that that's a diss
I was at Khaled's house two days ago, bitch
Sippin' Long Island Iced Teas with a white bitch
That was just as bad as Ice-T's, but she's not the wifey
The wife be at home with the kids
Look at them and see how a motherfucker live
24 cars, 5 and a half cribs, I was spendin' money like goin' broke was the shit
Shit

Jayceon Terrell Taylor was born November 29th, 1979 in Compton, California to two Crip-affiliated gang members. He grew up on Santana Blocc, a Crip-controlled neighborhood, with a large family of half and step siblings. He was hardened by a rough and violent childhood stinting from his parent’s drug use, domestic violence, and family members being killed through gang-related conflicts.

By 2000, a 21-year-old Jayceon Taylor was a member of the Cedar Block Pirus, a Blood-affiliated gang, and dealt drugs on the streets of Compton.

Late on the night of October 1st, 2001, Jayceon was alone in his apartment when the doorbell rang and after opening the door, he was jumped by three

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