Luyện nghe bài hát G.a.m.e.

)

[19 instrumental to open]

Game]
Live now, die later, flood or clock the shit out of
Got tryin to "Kiss the Game Goodbye" like Jada
Get your pushed back like Jada's CD
I'll put your brains on Kenwood TV
So you can see hell in 3D, right there dog
And the Game the Desert is a nightmare dog
If it's pussy, I might share it dog, I'm right here dog
I'm on the block, Nike Airs on
Gucci check, Coogi sweat, wanna know
if 22's on the truck, me coochie yet
But I come through in the new GS two, three tecs
Got Harlem Shakin like the new G. Dep
to read my whole script, but ain't seen the movie yet
Better have that glock stuffed
I'm comin through with Noble, and we, gon', make, it
A block bust

[Chorus 2X: The
American Money Easy, all I know
The Gangsta All Motherfuckers Envy, all my
It's a West coast knot, watch, let it out
Shots out, for all the gangsta hangouts

Game]
Lace your tips, polish gators, we like odds in Vegas
You can't ball? Then it's the haters
Can't breathe it's probably the Desert, if you a gangsta or not
I a fuck dog, bullets is hot
And every gon' cry when he hit, the more pain
the more blood drain, he survivin shit
And your niggaz ain't ride for shit, they know
if they through everybody in the X-5 is hit
Red rag or blue rag, niggaz die for
The Game the all these niggaz on that "Cali Love" shit
Compton niggaz get grimy too, pull you out of 6
Fuck you up like one do
And I dare to stop on the 'Shaw, and King Boulevard
hard, Doogie Howser pullin bullets out your jaw
Turn your round trip into a one-way
You can visit, but you can not lie and it

[Young
Aiyyo, we left a stain on your block, you came a cop
Pointin fingers at them niggaz, kept shit hot
Next to 'Pac, I'm the thang out, homey we can bang out
air it out, box 'em in, square it out
Learn about your whereabouts and we right
Me and Game you left right there
N-O-B-L-E,
We with ease, and I double my cheese
I got niggaz out in that'll find yo' ass
I got niggaz out in Jersey, that'll yo' ass
for a long if you ever fuckin with mine
a thin line dog between the real and the fraud
We killin your squad, my homeboy in the yard
You the type of standin next to the God
The is deep, you motherfuckers ain't the streets
Young Noble and the Game flamin heat, c'mon