Fizzy Womack - The Game Don't Stop lyrics

[First Verse] I'mma 80's baby Mercedes made me Crack money and Moet made me crazy Strapped hungry wit' no vest they named me AZ Amongst the militant, too insane to raise me Was _Swayze_ Some old school pimps embraced me And built real between daffodils and daisies amazed me The cars changed, switched attire Broads came, partied like _Richard Pryor_ ? frames, no lens to protect my pupils Thou' their hearts changed, love amongst my men was neutral Beau'ful We puffed, there was dough to spread Wit' enough bread to ? I fled Instead I had a mouth to feed 19 my queen claimed she handled my seed Do the right thing is wise, that's what Spike Lee said So disguised as a mic fiend, my ties was dead [Hook] The game don't stop 'Til the player gets knocked Or the sh** flip-flop And you sittin' on top [Second Verse] My kid here, career in the bloom I don't live there no more, I done moved to the moon Whips is like spaceships that zoom on fumes Flooded bracelets they lit like an eclipse in june No cartoon I symbolize the coldest itself Once told he who hold don't expose his weatlh But what else When one life's faced wit' crisis And you see hate replace the holy faith of the righteous I just Handcuffed and jailed myself Jammed up and bailed myself Wit' no help Made my own V.I.s and mailed myself It's all B.I. I had to tell myself I'm on lock The game don't stop 'Til the player gets knocked Or the sh** flip-flop And you sittin' on top Flashin' my wrist watch Like go get cops b**h I'm legit got rich off Hip Hop [Hook] [Third Verse] I'm one man but so many monsters in me Wit' one gram had plans on conquering cities So on one hand could've signed and launched wit' Diddy But I ran with my other man, the response was pretty A few grams, a few n***a's fiances wit' me New sedans, was feelin' like _Fonzworth Bentley_ Who the man? My homies at the concerts wit' me I was back on my deen Then the jacket wit' the jeans Then the hatin' and slackin' wit' the team Now I know what it means Things ain't always what it seems It's the ones that smoke blunts wit' cha Rap wit' cha But really want your black a** out the picture Bet the God won't slip I'm indie wit' the semi on the _Remy_ loaded talents in the clips Rubber grip Got the silence on the tip So call it what you want I'm on my New York sh**! [Hook]