The Game - Hit The J lyrics

That Marry Jane That OG Kush, that sour diesel drive them girls insane I roll it up, she disappear like David Blane And she ain't try to book a flight on that paper plane She don't wanna hit the J She don't wanna hit the J She don't wanna hit the J She don't wanna hit the J Don't want an undefeated title, don't want my chain Don't want that new kid red, b**h, is money gain See that red Maserati, n***as know it's game Drive that b**h down road screens and blow the brains Got that Rolly on my wrist, man that hoe insane Remind me of my chick Regatta, she always pay. Got a squad full chicks, they ain't dropping names They all call like the get up play for Notre Dame What's the next? Gotta dig ins, yea, that's right, that's right You know I'll be digging, I'll be eating on the kitten, I'll be picking out Never take her out to crustaceans and the in and out Just like that Charlie Shay, n***a goin' in 'er mouth She do everything 'xcept smoke that mean let a n***a poke That mean she be off the coke like players centerfolds Swear to God she a potent man But she like Lindsay Lohan, except she be running from that dope man That Harry Potter, that Marry Jane That OG Kush, that sour diesel drive them girls insane I roll it up, she disappear like David Blane And she ain't try to book a flight on that paper plane Cause she don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit the J) She don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit the J) She don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit it) Now she don't wanna hit the J (woh oh woh oh) Hit these b**hes in my face, I'm blowing up And when I'm stepping in the place, we'll be calling up Fourteen bottles of Ace, models showing up I tell 'er, homie break that down, and we gon roll it up It's Friday and she ain't got sh** to do And we ain't got sh** to do So umm, what's good with you? Smoke a little, talk a little, roll that up Girl twist that J, remind me of my n***a Rondo I know she ain't trying to hit that J Different chains, different lokes Different days, different strokes. I smoke that sh** that made Arnold and Willis broke You know my lifestyle, squeeshes in them life styles b**hes in the white house, red Camarro piped out. I'll be iced out, my blunts be packed in I'll smoke them till it's no more, I'm like the pack ten I'm 'bout to pack ten b**hes with them accents Man we 'bout to pack twelve swishers in that black hen That Harry Potter, that Marry Jane That OG Kush, that sour diesel drive them girls insane I roll it up, she disappear like David Blane And she ain't try to book a flight on that paper plane Cause she don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit the J) She don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit the J) She don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit it) Now she don't wanna hit the J (woh oh woh oh)