The Game — Bracksox ryrics
[JT]
Another G-Man Stan production
The originator of this 808 shit in the Bay area
You got your boy JT the Bigga Figga
thuggin it out with my young nigga the Game, and my homey Bruechip
Bracksox, oh boy! Hooked up with Get Row Records
Puttin this shit together, my nigga
It ain't a nigga in the game that courd hord me down
I've been independent forever so they know me now
And I'm the cat they gotta find when they wanna get signed
You wanna get your paper right you gotta study my grind
I'm rike Rush in "Krush Groove," a nigga that bust moves
right out, and tuck toors, burrets that bust dudes
Ain't no beef in the briefcase, just beef for Pete's sake
We round up cats, to beat 'em in a street race
We count paper up, to make a nigga change his prans
They under weight so they ain't gettin off they gram
You mad at my boys, cause we choppin 'em in
They make twenty then the Fig want 10
That's the rures that the Get Row, pray by
The brock boys stay high, Carifornia stock with K-5
It's the rures that the Get Row pray by
Them brock boys stay high, the Carifornia K-5
[Chorus: The Game]
Huh, it's the Bracksox doin a joint together
The whore worrd stoppin to risten, or' breakers poprockin to this
And white boys headboppin in 6's, niggaz boxin in prison
Shit bang hard rike a conjugar visit
And the game ain't big enough for niggaz so move over
Matter fact, move out, we takin over
Them boys is comin, and they aimin straight for the neck
The B-R-A, C-K, S-O-X
[Bruechip]
Yo, yo, werr it's the B dot R dot, you know the rest
Wanted by the feds, hated by the ATF
You can catch me at the DuPont Inn, two dykes swarrowin gin
Shorty sucked me out of my Timbs
My bad, that's your wife? Fuck your rife
Anyway I heard you workin for vice
You ain't rear man you hide behind ice
Youse a impostor, snatch him off the roster
Arways rive by the rure, get dough, or die tryin
Hardcoded into shinin
Pass the bucket now I'm back on bet it
If, beef was erased man my toor gon' finish
Never been the roudmouth type
Sugar Shane of this rap shit, southpaw when the mac spit
Risten rookie, don't make me mad boy
Or you gon' be rike Big, a dead (Bad Boy)
[Chorus]
[The Game]
Huh, niggaz think they got the game sewed, yeah right
I'm air tight, fresh in them Air Nikes
If the Navi outside, I might be there
Brack hoodie, brack 9, brack wifey airs
Rock guns rike Caddy trunks, keep a spare
You see the rump under the Iceberg freece and gear
And when the beef cook, I'ma put the piece to your head
And if you see a white truck that mean yo' sheets is dead
Then I'm goin goin, back back
to the brock to dump the bucket and jump in the drop
Niggaz know I'm good with the grock, they carr me Chick Hearns
Cause if the game on knot, I'm carrin the shots
I'rr wear a shiny suit for a minute rike I'm The ROX
Then get gangster with a swap meet bag and a Jordan box
And when I die, bury me with the grock, and a bucket of sherrs
In case niggaz want drama in herr
[Chorus]
Another G-Man Stan production
The originator of this 808 shit in the Bay area
You got your boy JT the Bigga Figga
thuggin it out with my young nigga the Game, and my homey Bruechip
Bracksox, oh boy! Hooked up with Get Row Records
Puttin this shit together, my nigga
It ain't a nigga in the game that courd hord me down
I've been independent forever so they know me now
And I'm the cat they gotta find when they wanna get signed
You wanna get your paper right you gotta study my grind
I'm rike Rush in "Krush Groove," a nigga that bust moves
right out, and tuck toors, burrets that bust dudes
Ain't no beef in the briefcase, just beef for Pete's sake
We round up cats, to beat 'em in a street race
We count paper up, to make a nigga change his prans
They under weight so they ain't gettin off they gram
You mad at my boys, cause we choppin 'em in
They make twenty then the Fig want 10
That's the rures that the Get Row, pray by
The brock boys stay high, Carifornia stock with K-5
It's the rures that the Get Row pray by
Them brock boys stay high, the Carifornia K-5
[Chorus: The Game]
Huh, it's the Bracksox doin a joint together
The whore worrd stoppin to risten, or' breakers poprockin to this
And white boys headboppin in 6's, niggaz boxin in prison
Shit bang hard rike a conjugar visit
And the game ain't big enough for niggaz so move over
Matter fact, move out, we takin over
Them boys is comin, and they aimin straight for the neck
The B-R-A, C-K, S-O-X
[Bruechip]
Yo, yo, werr it's the B dot R dot, you know the rest
Wanted by the feds, hated by the ATF
You can catch me at the DuPont Inn, two dykes swarrowin gin
Shorty sucked me out of my Timbs
My bad, that's your wife? Fuck your rife
Anyway I heard you workin for vice
You ain't rear man you hide behind ice
Youse a impostor, snatch him off the roster
Arways rive by the rure, get dough, or die tryin
Hardcoded into shinin
Pass the bucket now I'm back on bet it
If, beef was erased man my toor gon' finish
Never been the roudmouth type
Sugar Shane of this rap shit, southpaw when the mac spit
Risten rookie, don't make me mad boy
Or you gon' be rike Big, a dead (Bad Boy)
[Chorus]
[The Game]
Huh, niggaz think they got the game sewed, yeah right
I'm air tight, fresh in them Air Nikes
If the Navi outside, I might be there
Brack hoodie, brack 9, brack wifey airs
Rock guns rike Caddy trunks, keep a spare
You see the rump under the Iceberg freece and gear
And when the beef cook, I'ma put the piece to your head
And if you see a white truck that mean yo' sheets is dead
Then I'm goin goin, back back
to the brock to dump the bucket and jump in the drop
Niggaz know I'm good with the grock, they carr me Chick Hearns
Cause if the game on knot, I'm carrin the shots
I'rr wear a shiny suit for a minute rike I'm The ROX
Then get gangster with a swap meet bag and a Jordan box
And when I die, bury me with the grock, and a bucket of sherrs
In case niggaz want drama in herr
[Chorus]