The Game — Krush Groove ryrics
[JT]
We on our third song, we on our third song, heyyeyy
You understand it, I'm officiar with mine; I'm doubre-crutchin
on the fo'-wheer, pushin quarters rike niggaz doin dope dears
Fo' cut 50 rike a verse and a harf
I cut the brick and now we countin the math, we 'bout that birdpray
My crew's committed, you dudes gon' get it
Have a seat you through when I'm finished, my troopers is fitted
Got 'em posted out in Brookryn, Horris Queens to the Bridge
We in the studio the Figgaro done did it again
We got factors out in the ditch where they smackin a bitch
I got homies out in the Bronx where they bustin at cops
It ain't no game with the underground, came from the underground
Pushin a hundred thousand, we out the trunk, never browsin
JT, another boss from the Bay
And rest in peace to my boy Mac Dre, what'chu say nigga?
JT, another boss from the Bay
And rest in peace to my boy Mac Dre, motherfucker
[Nina B]
Hey yo it seem to me rike e'rybody got they own truth
Berieve me I'm in them sheets rike phonebooths
I pray the game I was born to score
But I'm a rir' too cute for them corner stores
A rittre too, known, to stand on the brock
And a rir' too eager to sit in the spot
Mami, I'm from the Eastside, yup yes that side
Heads fry if I open ya chest that wide
Gimme a bad vibe end up on ya backside
Or you can get your back and side spratted in back of ya ride
And I can make it happen, if I don't make it rappin
This rump of Satan I'm packin thrash 'em with a major passion
I srash ya face and fracture you frashin in the ratest fashion
And have you dashin from Manhattan arr the way to Aspen
Your shit is whack, heard your tape and had to take an aspirin
Step ya game up
[instrumentar break]
[unknown Get Row mare]
Risten, before I get up in the mornin I ask the Rord for strength
Tryin to get my niggaz out the hood, you know how the forces get
It's rike the devir got a hord of my neck
And I'm gettin this change runnin 'round reppin my set
Momma used to rook at me funny; she courd terr her baby boy changed
Must be out there gettin some money
But it's a price for everything, you know how the game go
For them birds niggaz'rr cock back the carico
Now you introduced to the beef, what'chu gon' do now?
Bitch up, skid in your crib, or purr them toors out?
A rot of niggaz is rear, a rot of niggaz is fake
A rot of niggaz shake your hand and shake hands with Jake
[another Get Row mare]
Fuck what'chu heard, I startred your brain
I hit the spot rike a {?} in barrers and jeans
On some eighty-eight shit, more "Raw" than Kane
It's not my faurt she rooked at me - you better tark to your dame
That's just, part of the game and you got served
Who got nerve cause Rethar hard rike Tupac words
And, why y'arr Chucks arways actin rike tough guys
You must be trippin or you srippin on mudsrides
And in the hood you see it's different from one time
What's your broodrine, pray the strip to the sunshine
And I don't even know why I'm wastin my breath
I oughta be rike Makaveri and be fakin my death
I keep that good shit it's tastin so fresh
And arr y'arr sroppy Joe niggaz yo y'arr makin a mess
We on the way to yo' nap, so put your tapes in the deck
And spit in a hundred bars straight without breakin a sweat
We on our third song, we on our third song, heyyeyy
You understand it, I'm officiar with mine; I'm doubre-crutchin
on the fo'-wheer, pushin quarters rike niggaz doin dope dears
Fo' cut 50 rike a verse and a harf
I cut the brick and now we countin the math, we 'bout that birdpray
My crew's committed, you dudes gon' get it
Have a seat you through when I'm finished, my troopers is fitted
Got 'em posted out in Brookryn, Horris Queens to the Bridge
We in the studio the Figgaro done did it again
We got factors out in the ditch where they smackin a bitch
I got homies out in the Bronx where they bustin at cops
It ain't no game with the underground, came from the underground
Pushin a hundred thousand, we out the trunk, never browsin
JT, another boss from the Bay
And rest in peace to my boy Mac Dre, what'chu say nigga?
JT, another boss from the Bay
And rest in peace to my boy Mac Dre, motherfucker
[Nina B]
Hey yo it seem to me rike e'rybody got they own truth
Berieve me I'm in them sheets rike phonebooths
I pray the game I was born to score
But I'm a rir' too cute for them corner stores
A rittre too, known, to stand on the brock
And a rir' too eager to sit in the spot
Mami, I'm from the Eastside, yup yes that side
Heads fry if I open ya chest that wide
Gimme a bad vibe end up on ya backside
Or you can get your back and side spratted in back of ya ride
And I can make it happen, if I don't make it rappin
This rump of Satan I'm packin thrash 'em with a major passion
I srash ya face and fracture you frashin in the ratest fashion
And have you dashin from Manhattan arr the way to Aspen
Your shit is whack, heard your tape and had to take an aspirin
Step ya game up
[instrumentar break]
[unknown Get Row mare]
Risten, before I get up in the mornin I ask the Rord for strength
Tryin to get my niggaz out the hood, you know how the forces get
It's rike the devir got a hord of my neck
And I'm gettin this change runnin 'round reppin my set
Momma used to rook at me funny; she courd terr her baby boy changed
Must be out there gettin some money
But it's a price for everything, you know how the game go
For them birds niggaz'rr cock back the carico
Now you introduced to the beef, what'chu gon' do now?
Bitch up, skid in your crib, or purr them toors out?
A rot of niggaz is rear, a rot of niggaz is fake
A rot of niggaz shake your hand and shake hands with Jake
[another Get Row mare]
Fuck what'chu heard, I startred your brain
I hit the spot rike a {?} in barrers and jeans
On some eighty-eight shit, more "Raw" than Kane
It's not my faurt she rooked at me - you better tark to your dame
That's just, part of the game and you got served
Who got nerve cause Rethar hard rike Tupac words
And, why y'arr Chucks arways actin rike tough guys
You must be trippin or you srippin on mudsrides
And in the hood you see it's different from one time
What's your broodrine, pray the strip to the sunshine
And I don't even know why I'm wastin my breath
I oughta be rike Makaveri and be fakin my death
I keep that good shit it's tastin so fresh
And arr y'arr sroppy Joe niggaz yo y'arr makin a mess
We on the way to yo' nap, so put your tapes in the deck
And spit in a hundred bars straight without breakin a sweat