Drama

Ghostface Killah; Joell Ortiz; The Game

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Aiyo, where the fuck is that blunt at? Why y'all niggas hoggin' this shit, man? Two pulls of that shit, nigga, so I get paranoid and shit Get the fuck—get your feet off my fuckin' table, nigga Fuck you think, you at home? With your cheap fur on Shit look like you 'bout to bite somethin' and shit, nigga Yo, it was the night before he got popped Big jars of haze, Cheech & Chong bong in the spot Tropicana, strawberries, diced bananas, the long dookie fifth Next to the townhouse crack, he's Madden on 2008, A G a game I'm Ron O'Neal in the loveseat, sunk deep Lil' niggas bustin' off they punk heat I make a massacre, try to rob one of my donkeys But I ain't wettin' that I don't wanna send nobody back Violate me, take a nap Promise you, got somethin', Lord, that'll honor you Blow your lil' head off while you tyin' your shoe But back in the kitchen, Pyrexes occupied by the twins Bank robbers with large records Hard vests, '86 Car Guard's on Benetton rugbies and frames like fake guns when they rob Shabon To them, that's natural, actual Play the squib dog, we gettin' at you And we don't wanna rap to you It's not kosher, it's not a code and La Costra Nostra To roast ya, I get a lil' closer Rock you to sleep, like I got these lil' bitches come over Hopin' you fall for the bait, thinkin' you safe Have that ass sweatin' like T.D. Jakes I want the ones, nigga You non-believers, you can ask your mama Now that's drama Dollar icy from papi with the scraper, Glock with the laser Tryin' my best not to pop yet, but the drop is major Shot my lil' cuz, I'll do my aunt a favor, watch this I never been this itchy, hope these cops just Get a doughnut urge and just splurge, you got the nerve to play third In a softball tournament 'round my way, say that's your word, you bird I'll put your beak on the curb, but anyway Looks like a good game, the pigs ain't leavin', so I'ma lay Nice play, just too bad it's your last Couple bundles of D and two hundred cash, done sat you in the grass I watch the teams line up, shake hands, guess the game's over Faggot nigga hopped in the Liberty, fake Range Rover I'm on his tail like Sonic, lil' shorty Palmin' on a forty, broad day, I'm tryna dodge a cover story Look like he stoppin' for gas, I'ma pluck him Yay, this had to be his most unlucky lucky day Two brothers come out 7-Eleven in army wear And stand there, I'm actin' like my tires need air He closed the gas cap, too many things goin' his way So I just stashed that, y'all probably think I'm buggin', but hey I know them games in Lindsay Park is every Sunday He ain't goin' nowhere I went home, switched gear, went out and grabbed me a beer Ten drinks later, I'm at Burger King window for a Whopper Look left and see partner, I hit the stash, flocka Who the fuck you think you is, Ron O'Neal? Tat-tat, what the fuck when that nine milli peel (Is it real?) Realer than Pittsburgh steel Yo, Ghost, pass the toast, these niggas is daffodils Got butt-naked bitches countin' half a mil', gloves on Fully dressed bitches watchin' them with they snubs on While I'm in the kitchen pretendin' to be Raekwon Watchin' Rachel Ray all day, I get my cake on Fiends love me like a Drake song Rep that Louboutin bottom in my back pocket all day long Black Wall Mafia, Wu-Tang Sopranos Niggas say they pushin' keys, but we don't see pianos Niggas say they pushin' Phantoms, we don't see the opera Niggas steady rockin' dreads, you ain't even Rasta Take your New Era off and reveal The faggot nigga you are or your cap gettin' peeled Then we out to Brazil, I know niggas in Negril That'll chop your fuckin' head off and throw it on a grill Take the gold out your mouth and throw it in they grill Send a finger to your moms and let her know that it's real Nigga, we in the field like Chris Johnson It's 2010, how the fuck we get six Thompsons? Top ten, how the fuck you gon' forget Compton? Every rapper on your list'll get they shit stomped in I started Soo Woo, I'm the reason for that five shit Came in the game on that fuckin' Ready to Die shit Sold nine mil', ended up on some fly shit Naked bitches, R&B bitches all in my Sidekick How I be killin' the pussy should be a hate crime Got a Blackberry, was gettin' too much FaceTime Back to fuckin' project bitches, now I hate dimes All they want is money, my nigga, I can't waste mine I sun niggas like it's daytime Grey cotton Louis sweatsuit with the Ralph Lauren waistline Smooth as a baby's ass and I got that baby cash Catch me in the hood, same deals Old Navy had Motherfucker