Game Time

Mmm-hmm... yo we going in, nigga

It's game time, gear the lacing of your kicks

When I bang mine, ain't no escaping out this bitch

And your chain's mine, kidnap the bracelet off your wrist

Heard it through the grapevine, that you was hating on the click

I'm not Chris Tuck', but I'll tuck them ratchets

When I was young, I used to beat off, and fuck the mattress

And I promise you, step out of line, see what that llama do

Demolish you, rip through your chest, hit your abdominal

My hammer hold twelve like a dozen of eggs

And your man'll get bodied over something he said

I'm not a blood, but I rock nothing but red

He got his button on, I heard son fuck with the feds

Why niggaz wanna fuck with my bread, like I ain't starving

When I reign, I leave niggaz in Payne, but I ain't Martin

If I ain't gone, I'm gonna move the weight by the carton

On the plate carving, find me out of sight like a martian

And I'm bobbing and weaving, dodging the precint

Hit I-95, blowing cigars on the Decon

Even when I'm fucked up, you know the God'll be eating

It's all good, my hood is like the Garden of Eden

We make hits, classical shit, spit acid

Turn bodies into ashes, T.M.F., we the masters

Father to your style, so you can't be called a bastard

Held fast in close casket, on the verge of collapsion

Demolition derby, car crashing, heart smashed in

Brutaly, I beast on beats, Broadstreet, Staten

Usually I creep black heat, in dusty clothes

Then drift from rusty 'fro's

Communicate