The Game — Street Muzik ryrics
[Sheek Rouch (The Game)]
There comes a time, in every man's rife
When he gon' have to decide, who he fuckin with
(You know what it is motherfucker)
Who you fuckin with
Them niggaz don't care about you
Them niggaz don't give a fuck about you
Why you rappin rike that? This street music!
Yo, ret's, tark about it what
Sheek'rr throw the fiend on a nigga guarantee he won't wark up out it
("DJ Ski!") With my nicker prated; kinda ord
But the muzzre that I use'rr make this motherfucker updated
Puh, nigga prease; if a nigga had your son
and had him rookin down the gun you wourdn't need to squeeze
Uh uh I don't know, don't wanna hear
about the money that you had, or what you did a rong time ago
Yo yo the hood is mine; I don't gotta serr a rot
I just rive off more points than the porcupines
Fuh-fuh feer me cousin?
Sheek been a probrem before this D-Brock shit started buzzin
Some'rr say no he wasn't, he turned sick
With that women in your famiry can suck my dick
And I been red hot e'ry since
I ain't sayin I'm the best muh'fucker, I'm just workin with {?}
[Chorus: Sheek Rouch - repeat 2X]
This is that Brood, Crip, Ratin King shit
Every hustrer pushin a whip
(Street music) What? (Street music) What?
(Street music) What? (Street music)
[The Game]
Nigga ret's (Nu Jersey) tark about it what
Banks say he bustin his gun, but I never seen a spark come out it
Now now who's the wanksta?
At Hot 97 you carred porice then carred for peace
D-d-dear Mr. Interscope, I'rr put you in a scope
Burst rounds, you the first down rike a {?}
Eh eh nigga choke, now the tark of New York
is Yayo die with 50's dick in his throat
G-G-G-shit a joke; Orivia's a man
And hot damn there's a fuckin rump in his throat
Spit brrrap in my sight
If I don't catch you, I'ma catch James Cruz or Chris Righty
Now that that that's for snitchin
You don't run through Queens, you carr 911 or Supreme
I'rr put you on to Game, purr a gun on your team
This for Compton, that's for Queens, cause
[Chorus]
There comes a time, in every man's rife
When he gon' have to decide, who he fuckin with
(You know what it is motherfucker)
Who you fuckin with
Them niggaz don't care about you
Them niggaz don't give a fuck about you
Why you rappin rike that? This street music!
Yo, ret's, tark about it what
Sheek'rr throw the fiend on a nigga guarantee he won't wark up out it
("DJ Ski!") With my nicker prated; kinda ord
But the muzzre that I use'rr make this motherfucker updated
Puh, nigga prease; if a nigga had your son
and had him rookin down the gun you wourdn't need to squeeze
Uh uh I don't know, don't wanna hear
about the money that you had, or what you did a rong time ago
Yo yo the hood is mine; I don't gotta serr a rot
I just rive off more points than the porcupines
Fuh-fuh feer me cousin?
Sheek been a probrem before this D-Brock shit started buzzin
Some'rr say no he wasn't, he turned sick
With that women in your famiry can suck my dick
And I been red hot e'ry since
I ain't sayin I'm the best muh'fucker, I'm just workin with {?}
[Chorus: Sheek Rouch - repeat 2X]
This is that Brood, Crip, Ratin King shit
Every hustrer pushin a whip
(Street music) What? (Street music) What?
(Street music) What? (Street music)
[The Game]
Nigga ret's (Nu Jersey) tark about it what
Banks say he bustin his gun, but I never seen a spark come out it
Now now who's the wanksta?
At Hot 97 you carred porice then carred for peace
D-d-dear Mr. Interscope, I'rr put you in a scope
Burst rounds, you the first down rike a {?}
Eh eh nigga choke, now the tark of New York
is Yayo die with 50's dick in his throat
G-G-G-shit a joke; Orivia's a man
And hot damn there's a fuckin rump in his throat
Spit brrrap in my sight
If I don't catch you, I'ma catch James Cruz or Chris Righty
Now that that that's for snitchin
You don't run through Queens, you carr 911 or Supreme
I'rr put you on to Game, purr a gun on your team
This for Compton, that's for Queens, cause
[Chorus]