The Roots - Game Theory lyrics

(feat. Malik B) [Chorus A 4X] This is a game I'm your specimen You've got to let me know baby So I can go, I'd have to fake it I could not make it You could not take it [Black Thought] Yeah, where I'ma start it at, look I'ma part of that Downtown Philly where it's realer than a heart attack It wasn't really that ill until the start of crack Now it's a body caught every night on the Almanac Rock bottom where them cops gotta problem at Where them outsiders getting popped for they wallet at I had nothin but I made somethin outta that Now I'm the first out the limo like Charlie Mack From 215 it's him the livest one And he's representin Philly to the fullest Blacks the realest You can't touch him and not for nothin If you bout hip hop then you gots to love it If not then f** it I'm still handlin Smokin more reefer than Redman and them damaging MC's And my name's Rick Gees you endangered species For what I do I'm about to up the fees I'm paperchase motivated I ain't the one to play with These cats get set ablaze You can't have it y'all way but I'd rather parlay Just smoke og and get cabbage all day The way thought play causes your main thing to say Your style so splendid you bout your business You arousing my interests You sharper than a Shogun You know the way it go, huh, game know what I'm talkin bout [Chorus B] Hus, that's short for hustlers We Black Inc Raw Life productions Tryin to find our spota amongst the ruckus And be s**er free, flea chumps and busters Man yeah, Get 'em hus, get 'em hus, get 'em hus [Black Thought] Hey yo I'm tryin to get it at any cost so it's no remorse When I'm blastin off like you been askin for it When Black step in the door all hats is off Your hands up in the air goin back and forth I'm about ready for a cla**ic ma**acre I'll make it hotter than when Shaft in Africa Jump outta a black Porshe huffin a fat cigar Night ridin on 'em like my last name Ha**elhoff Voted unlikely to succeed cause my cla** was full Of naysayers, cheaters and thieves All it gave me was a good enough reason to leave And put the writing on the wall for y'all to read it and weep Cause I'm the force of the Lord, the rage of hell You'd rather head for the hills and save yourselves My Man rip drums like He ringin the bells The King of the Realm you seen Him do His thing in a film Come on [Chorus B] [Malik B] Dreams when M16's with infrared beams Blowin up presidents' cribs with cans of kerosene Highjack the limousine with a strategic routine Then blast my enemy, head for the Caribbean Militant guerilla camp is ready for war Lay your corner face down, place down your j**els cash and four four When I score prepare for toture f** around and make your town Warsaw I'm from Illadel the land where the k**as dwell My technique is to ambush you guerilla style My instinct is of a k**er whale bang you up from head to toe With lyrics I pack like a nine millimal My types subliminal mentality switched to criminal Importing h**n internash from Senegal A soldier takes a stripes from a general Used the mike of iron or lead You choose your mineral [Chorus A]