Luyện nghe bài hát G.a.m.e.

)

[19 second instrumental to

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

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

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

[Young
Aiyyo, we a stain on your block, you came with a cop
Pointin at them niggaz, that kept shit hot
to 'Pac, I'm the hottest thang out, homey we can bang out
Outlaw air it out, box 'em in, it out
Learn about your whereabouts and we there
Me and Game you left right there
N-O-B-L-E,
We bubble with ease, and I my cheese
I got niggaz out in Compton find yo' ass
I got out in Jersey, that'll hide yo' ass
for a time if you ever fuckin with mine
It's a thin line dog between the real and the
We killin your squad, my still 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 homey Game flamin heat,