The Game - Put It In The Air lyrics

(feat. Sky) [19 second instrumental to open] [Sky] Who's hot, who's not; I been the hottest thing on the West, ever since the d**h of Tupac Kept my crack in clear capsules with blue tops And it's still nothin for me to get you shot You see him? Yup, the same ol' pimp Sky baller, and ain't nuttin changed but my limp Natural born player, mine not a lame or a simp The world is mine, you see my name on a blimp Stay Dolce Gabbana'd down, play the Bahamas now Youse a donkey, I'ma piranha clown I keep thick bread, in the pockets of my sweats While I'm drivin I get head in the co*kpit of my 'Vette And my game is sharp as a mosquito's needle As far as the charts, young S be's the Beatles Purple haze smoke in the urr, blow in the wind The rims right there when I stop they still go and they spin I can teach you how to stunt boy, and pop that trunk boy Them city slickers ain't never been punks boy So fix your ice grill, and your mean mug Unless you wanna feel a few M-16 slugs [Chorus 2X: The Game] n***a you got a blunt then put it in the air n***a you got a gun then put it in the air n***a you from a gang then put in in the air Play with k**a Cali if you want, muh'f**ers [The Game] I ain't got no time for fake ones, so don't think for a second I won't pull this 45 and put your stomach where your neck is If I tell you kiss the sky better respect it Or get yo' a** hog-tied, bu*t-a** naked I'm doin this for Eazy, like it or not I wouldn't even be rappin if Eric Wright wouldn'ta dropped I love this sh**, I work and I'm good I ain't on corner f**ers but I'm still in the hood I'm poised to go platinum, that's what the magazines sayin f** The Source, I got my own magazines man I call her Shirley, she got a 32 round clip And she love hangin out wit'chu girlies I'm like them Philly nigs that come through "Early" Through your front door without knockin like Mr. Furley It's just me, you and the semi - "Three's Company" You want the crown, you be U.G.K. like Bun B [Chorus] [Sky] I rock j**els, cop tools, I will not lose A million miles a minute is how my block moves I stay in the fast lane, never fakin, cheddar chasin I'm in the game for the cash mayne And b**hes play this in they Benzes, Jeeps and G.O.'s They say I'm arrogant and got a big ego But they still love to swallow me up And every hotel suite, they wanna follow me up But I ain't gon' put my dick in for free, nah ma You want the kid then you gotta pay this pimpin a fee And ain't no champagne left, so let's toast 'gnac Sky baller and Game 'bout to bring the West coast back I'm on that get dough sh**, that Frank War{?} pimpin that ho sh** In Cali smokin that 'dro sh** I still push fishscale, and china white A lil' n***a with a big gun and I ain't tryin to fight [Chorus]