The Game Don't Stop

I'm a 80's baby

"Mercedes" made me

Crack money and "Moet" made me crazy

Strapped hungry with' 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

With' 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

The game don't stop

'Til the player gets knocked

Or the shit flip-flop

And you sittin' on top

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 with' crisis

And you see hate replace the holy faith of the righteous

I just

Handcuffed and jailed myself

Jammed up and bailed myself

With' 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 shit flip-flop

And you sittin' on top

Flashin' my wrist watch

Like go get cops

Bitch I'm legit got rich off Hip Hop

I'm one man but so many monsters in me

With' one gram had plans on conquering cities

So on one hand could've signed and launched with' "Diddy"

But I ran with my other man, the response was pretty

A few grams, a few nigga's fiances with' me

New sedans, was feelin' like "Fonzworth Bentley"

Who the man? My homies at the concerts with' me

I was back on my deen

Then the jacket with' the jeans

Then the hatin' and slackin' with' the team

Now I know what it means

Things ain't always what it seems

It's the ones that smoke blunts with' cha

Rap with' cha

But really want your black ass out the picture

Bet the God won't slip

I'm indie with' 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 shit!