Faith Evans - Don't Need Your Love lyrics

[Intro: The Game] Yo Havoc, I'm too close to the edge on this one n***a I ain't gon' jump though, I'mma keep it raw gutter Yo Prodigy, you know I need you on this one n***a [Verse 1: The Game] I got sh** on my chest, I must confess Last night I was the n***a that shot up your projects Now I'm back in the hood, with rocks in the Pyrex Tan khakis and them Nike Airs with the dyed checks I was forced to live this life, forced to bust my chrome My pops left me in a foster home I felt abandoned like Quik now that Mausberg gone So I don't hop in the SS without the Mossberg homes I've been rappin' for a year and a half, my life is real Put the gun in his mouth, he gon' bite the steel Come to Compton, I got stripes for real Before Dre, before the ice, before the deal - I was almost k**ed Like 'Pac before the d**h Row deal I got shot over two pounds of weed, still ain't found them n***as But karma come quicker for a n***a on the other side of the gun That's somethin I gotta teach my son [Hook: Faith Evans] I don't need your love, no no no no I don't need your love Need it, I don't want it, I don't need it I don't need your love, no I don't need your love I don't need your love Cause, the, game, don't, change [Verse 2: The Game] I heard they got Bloods in New York now Red rags in Uptown Harlem now, I need that love Front court at the Knicks game, new chick, French name New car, new house, and sometimes friends change And you don't need that love, when you G's like us And your Jesus piece is sim-u-lar to Biggie's And your life story is sim-u-lar to 50's First they hate you, then they love you, then they hate you again What the f** do it take for a gangsta to win? No mics, no Unsigned Hype, n***a f** The Source Plus them awards I don't need And them n***as breathing the same air as me, acting like they don't bleed We don't drive the same speed, this a Continental T That's a case of Armadale, this a continental suite So I'mma drown in my own sorrows Live life, f** tomorrow, n***a cause reality is [Hook: Faith Evans] w/ variations + ad libs [Verse 3: The Game] I was ga**ed up, Murder Inc., Roc-A-Fella pa**ed up Sat in Daddy's House with Black Rob and Lou and asked Puff Now The Game's set in stone, the Franck Muller's set in stones Dre cut me a check, I'm gone Tryin to be the king of the streets, n***as'll wet your throne But I got nieces to feed, two coasts to please So I roam through the city like the ghost of E Gotta put Compton back where it's 'sposed to be Nothing between all my n***as that's close to me In the streets with two fellas packing toast for me I'm 'posed to be, got all the critics watching my pivot On my block in the Coupe reading kites from prison I got n***as doing life in prison All my fallen soldiers is one of the reasons we pour out liquor So this song is for Ms. Wallace, Afeni Shakur And all the mothers of dead sons that went out in the war [Hook: Faith Evans] - 2X w/ variations + ad libs