400 Bars (The Skeemix)

The Game

Album The Red Room

It’s been a long time, get re-acquainted with the world famous
You know how on point my aim is
Long range sniper’s, clash of the titan’s, chrome pipen’
In this 300 like Leonidas
Snub in the bubblegoose, riding down the interstate
Where fiends put them needles in they arm and let ’em penetrate
Leanin’ sideways with my fitted straight
The 27’s on point, the paint job a New York minute late
Check my Audemar, no cloud’s in my stones
Project’s ringin’, standin’ by the corner store
Two Glocks on me, BANG BANG if you wanna war
That was ’05, now we ballin’ on this tour
Screamin’ out “Thug Life”, pourin’ Belve on ya whore
Money I’m involved with it, wake up and ball with it
Kobe/Gasol with it, uncut raw with it
Chop bricks take trips ot
Before I had a goatee, I used to bag the Oz
(Yeah, fish-scale nigga, What up Ghost!?)
Then stash ’em by the oak tree, move it by the coke leaf
Drama let the llama Knick niggas like Charles Oakley
Nigga don’t insult me, I banana boat B.R.C.K.S.’s
And stuff ’em in the Lexus
I’m sitting fat like Precious, Christ up on the necklace
And I keep them clips on a dresser
Yes sir, I’m bout to ball, Louis bag the fuckin’ mall
Bitches, money and fast cars, nigga I want it all
(Yeah, word to my kids nigga, I want it all)
Nascar Game, why the fuck would I stall!?
I’m the franchise nigga, Chris fucking Paul!
Empty out the cannon hit ya bitch, you the truck and all
Withdrawal 200 thousand, and then FUCK it off!
King of the hill, gotta dime bitch cuttin’ raw
She bagged the last nick’, I unzip, she suck it soft
Black Superman, yeah, I’m above the law
I put this hollowtip a quarter inch above ya jaw
Eat out a FUCKIN’ straw!
Blindfold your bitch toss her in the trunk
After the first 48 that bitch smellin’ like a skunk
It’s a wrap, I rap, when I wrap the punk
Throw me in the gang module and tell ’em wrap the bunks
The breakfast club nigga, no Captain Crunch
This for my dog nigga’s that eat cat’s for lunch
I’m hungry like I ain’t trapped in month’s
So nigga act and stunt, my Glock pack a punch
Or I can Heckler-Koch, and seal your pine box
Leave your head wrapped for months, while I pass the blunt
To my niggas, we all Roc’d out, what’s up Jigga?
Sometimes I be in BK, with Fab’ on the freeway
Lincoln Continental and I copped it off a eBay
I pop cham. like it’s my b-day, horse power
Under my hood like it’s an olympic relay
My flow right on time, no delay
I raise a million dollars, send it off to Chile
(Word to my red cross, I don’t fuck with the Red Cross)
I’m All-Madden nigga, EA, I’m in VA
Money talks with Dre and Pharrell on 3-Way
Them 28’s, that’s my DJ, they spinning shit
When I took trips OT, I never rented shit
I just drop then cop, and then I tinted shit
Diddy and Mike Epps, I’m All About The Benjamins
In it for the benefits, I’ll be down in Ten to 6
Tell ’em get me a Porterhouse and some eggs-Benedict
Damn that was good, but I’m still hungry
And I’m living it, I be out in Venice, shit
They say Weezy-Jordan, nigga I’m on my Pippen shit
They say Drake-Lebron, I’m on my Moe Williams shit
If T.I.P. is Kobe then fuck it, I’m Derek Fisher, shit!
Long as I’m in the starting five, I’m a get it in
Cause I promised the city of Compton, I would get it in!
I was OutKast’d… Andre Benjamin
Now I slide through with my Dominican woman friend
(She like puttin’ No Ceilings in, yeah)
Giuseppe Heels, expensive wines, Perri seal
It ain’t tricking, I just spend money on cheap thrills
Big Phantom’s, sweet wheels
Back seat like a club, make them bitches eat pills
Take Patrone shots to the purse with chrome Glocks
Jay Electronica, this a dome shot
So I had to steal it, nigga I had the kill it!
I was the turtle in the race, I made the rabbit feel it!
(Yeah, keep runnin’ nigga)
Housing by the subway, feel it through the projects
Come through the Murcialago, a foreign object
Number one prospect, the day that I was drafted
Aftermath-matic unleashed a fuckin’ bastard!
Don’t respect none of you niggas, get in the casket!
Talking ratchets, never touched a fuckin’ automatic
Drama this is tragic, put it in the plastic
88 bars and runnin’, throw it with my other classics
(Drama you should’ve warned these niggas, I’m bout to kill ’em)
Yeah, trash bag it, this is crack
And I know you been fiendin’ for this, come get your packs
I do it for the music nigga, fuck the Plaques
Ain’t on no beef shit, but it’s still FUCK the rats!
And when I’m in New York, I set a bunch of traps
Put the cheese where they can see it, and if you stunt, you clapped
Catch ’em in the club, that’s when I stomp ’em flat
Nigga get up after that, go get a fucking bat
(I tell you bout these fucking rats!)
They either snitch or bend over to catch
No matter how you look at it, I hate fucking rats!
Get my bottle of Ciroc and I twist the cap
Sit back watch the NBA play-offs and roll a bat
Yeah, real fat, yeah, all I do is stack bread
In the hood on the wall like a fucking Phathead
Two nines on your back, Warren Sapp, yeah!
This my block and you niggas can’t trap here
Unless you wanna get clapped here, head wrapped, yeah
I’m killing niggas, I should have a hundred tat tears
Celebrate your death, toast bottles and clap beers
It’s gon’ be a cold summer, come through like burr!
The red Phantom bullshittin, the 25, Steve Kerr
The beat insane, Just Blaze in this mothafucka
The cars outside, the ‘K is in this mothafucka
I should let off a couple strays in this mothafucka
Fuck that, I’m tryna get laid in this mothafucka
(Yo, tell your friends to get with my friends… Yeah)
Meet me in the parking lot, license plate Aftermath
Screamin’ out “Fuck 50”, wouldn’t snitch for half his cash
If he wasn’t such a bitch, nobody would’ve had to blast
They stood us down in Jacksonville, don’t make me have to wrap ya Jag’
Cause I rather be in Saint Tropez, unpackin bags
With bitches that speak French, how you say: “catch a cab”
I don’t trip Euros, I don’t trip Pounds
I bowlin’ ball bitches, till I knock ’em all down
(Like the ’93 Pac, I Get Around)
Duffles by the staircase, crack by the backdoor
Navigate my way through the South, I used to trap ho
All the way through Queensbidge moving packs yo
Might’ve lost a couple friends, but I got my gat though
Blast fo’, my Rap foes could never stop my cash flow
Had a Nike box of hundreds, when I was in that RAV4
But now I pull up in that truck with the crash board
With the mag low, give you everythin you ask for
Sometimes, I can be a fucking asshole
In the bank with my mask on, look at this nigga A-R
Don’t take your fucking mask off, bitch empty out the cash drawer
We on a suicide mission, but we don’t give fuck
Cause if we make it out, bigger house bigger truck
I’m in a strip club with a Glock, nigga what!?
Gimme your bitch, she got a cuter face and bigger butt
I ain’t gon’ do shit but pour champagne on her
Hit it from the back and watch half of the Laker game on her
(Don’t put that back on, too many cum stains on it)
Run a train on her, call Cartoon
Have ’em tattoo my name on her, Star Trak too
You know what? Fuck it, Aftermath too
Put a little smoke around it then take it home and pound it
Helicopter outside, nigga I’m surrounded
Had a spot in the Jungles till the fuckin Fed’s found it
Momma, your son got a public announcement
I got 5 million in the walls and the couches
(Don’t even think about it… We got cameras, dogs and guns)
Ask Pe-Pe, he was there, he can vouch it
Throw it in the trashcan on some Oscar The Grouch shit
A bunch of green popped out, time to re-route shit
Settle down in Mississippi, gotta down South click
And my niggas like, “we ain’t know all about this”
And any nigga ever snitch, got his fuckin’ mouth fixed
You get 25, he get his fuckin’ throat slit
Cut ’em like Filet Mignon and throw em off a boat, bitch!
Feed ’em to the sharks then dock the yacht
Oil in the water, damn the ocean so thick
Time to finish off his niggas on some trench coat shit
It’s a drug war, real life, Grand Theft
Catch you in the streets fuck you up and hit ya man next
Come through on some retarded shit, just sprayin’ techs
Where my dogs at? tell ’em I’m crazier then DMX
Lazier then Chinese eyes, when I’m puffin that
Blueberry, I ain’t talking where the muffins’ at
(Roll up the sour diesel if you want nigga)
I split open the dutch, then I’m stuffin’ that
You should get a flight to California, come fuck with that
That’s all you, go ahead, hop in the truck with that
Take it down in Cashville and hit Young Buck with that
Don’t bring nothin’ back, Border Patrol cuffin that
I ain’t trying see the pen, and have to get my knuckles wrapped
I wake up real early, keep lunchin fags
This shit easy, you Rap niggas my punchin bags
(I got some combinations nigga, Pacquio shit)
Talkin ’bout you poppin tags, talkin ’bout u poppin Cris’
Where u get it poppin at? Nigga u ain’t poppin shit
But a X pill, as I turn the Lex’ wheels
I got a mean Phantom, very upset grill
Tell’em why you mad son, that nigga pulled a fast one
You know who you are, when I see you that’s ya ass son
But I’m in the club, throwin’ shots like my last gun
It’s 2o’clock, YURR, gotta make a cash run
(Yo, go get the truck from around the corner, tell Wack I’ll meet ’em outside)
Into the 7-11 bout to blast one
This nigga A-R will not keep his fuckin’ mask on
Deal with it when we get to the crib
You niggas is wildin’! Wait till we get to the crib
And split this fuckin’ money up
Hit the block and dummy up
Shave the onion, slice it down the middle, that’s a tummy tuck
That’s how we do it in Compton, FUCK the Police!
Defend my hood like an NHL goalie
(Sometimes it’s cold on these mothafuckin’ streets nigga)
Iced out Rollie
And I still remember everythin’ that Dre told me
Red Polo fleece, sippin on that O.E
Never been to jail cause I never had a cold D
Do it just like the O.G.’s
Cut the Impala in half, insert the gold D’s
Then bounce this mothafucka till it got a slow leak
Flatbed pick it up and you know me
I’m goin with the car, all night, no sleep
(Gotta get this mothafucker back on the strip)
Next day we in the red Phantom, 4 deep
Kids runnin up to the car, block off the whole street
It’s the ice cream man like the Ol’ P
Cali like the Lion’s o-line, it’s where the holes(hoes) be
BC runnin shit like a nose bleed
Don’t get it confused or screwed like Codine
More swag then the niggas from the show-me
That’s ya bitch I’m bout to Mac her like Goldie
(Shit, together we can rule the world baby)
Blacked out Cartier, Four Season’s caviar
Spray a lil Diddy on it, that’ll get their panties off
Nigga see me in the lobby lookin like “damn he soft”
Catch me outside where I can let this cannon off
Soo to the Woo, bet I let this cannon off
And put everything in the clip right where u standin, dog
Ride off in a Mazi’ like can I ball?
For the bucks, I’m tryna get it like Brandon dog
(Young Money clearly NBA rookie of the year)
I’m still standin tall wish the Twin Towers was
Take innocent lives, that’s the type of shit a coward does
I’m just reminiscin’, smokin’ on the sour, blood
Take a couple more hits and pass the shit around the bus
U can’t tell me shit I done seen a thousand drugs
Hundred rounds in ten drums, that’s a thousand slugs
One day I flipped the kitchen table, found a bug
Kept lookin’, found another one, right around the subs
(Ayyo, Fed’s can u hear me? God damn)
I was takin a shit, then I seen one by the tub
Feedin’ my fish, there’s a wire right by the rug
Dumb mothafuckers this is not where they buy the drugs
That’s Salami in the kitchen that we fryin up
The world full of bitches, all the niggas dyin’ up
They strechin’ niggas out for crack, all the fiends tryin dust
We got some mean smokers for the sack they tie u up
Quarter sack and get the pound, brick burn the house down
(The connect ain’t gon’ think that shit is funny)
The fuck these niggas laughin at? Run up, u got some cash in that?
Knock on ya momma’s door, ya head sittin’ in a bassinette
While I’m on a G4, smokin’ up half the jet
All season in New York, smokin’ up half the Jets
246 bars ain’t broke half a sweat
Just got half a mil’, gave the hood half the check
And I done shot it out with probly over half the ‘jects
Sometimes just for the love, the other half, respect
(That’s that HOOD shit, I’m livin’ GOOD bitch!)
Out of my mind like breakin’ off half an X
Movin through Hollywood faster than a bag a Meth
Yup, nigga’s better watch they step
‘Less they in a fraternity, but that ain’t concernin’ me
Let’s get back on this ape shit, back to the basics
Cold words, flip birds in the kitchen with cake mix
Yeah, Betty Crocker that, then hit the block with that
Cut off khakis, house shoes and a stockin’ cap
(Hit the Swapmeet… Get me some white T’s, red-tip socks)
My flow a 38. don’t make me have to cock it back
Shoot it like Olajuwon and bring the old Rocket’s back
Two holes in ya face where ya sockets at
Bring the whole hood out and show ’em how to drop a rat
They got them brand new Porsche’s out, I’m coppin that
V12 under the hood, ain’t no stock in that
Panoramic sunroof, me and this chick watchin glass
My hood is like cameras in the bumper, watch ya ass
(Get ya ass smoked around these parts, youngin’)
What the fuck u thought? Ride up bangin Too Short
Smoke u like a Newport, nigga this ain’t New York
I be in the jungle with lions or in the zoo lost
Or with my wolves that’s dyin’ to get they tools off
City Of Angels, be careful who you cross
Niggas’ll run in Mr.Chow’s and take them fuckin’ jewels off
Rappin’ all that goon shit, we all know that u soft
A baby’s ass in the Martha Stewart face cloth
(Or a box of cotton, stay pushed ’til your rotten)
So, nigga you stay on your Rap shit, while I stay on my trap shit
My, bust a gat shit, Busta hit me like: “u wrote 400 that quick? “
Naw, 282 and that’s just cause the track sick
120 more, welcome to the liquor store
Same one that frog sent me, lil’ nigga get the raw
And I did it, Cedar Block, I’m with it
Who you think got all these niggas in them Cincinnati fitted’s?
(Yeah, took America and Ken Griffey’d that)
7-5-8’s, throw on my crown, throw on my khakis
Then brush the Nike’s down
Jump in the ‘Lac and push to Nike town
Where Them Space Jam’s? I need ’em right NOW!
Jordan sweatsuit on, OH Let’s Do It!
Go Wocka Flocka on them nigga’s in these new kicks
You know how that go, new kick’s, new whip
Blue 6, loc’in on the set like a new Crip
(That line was so crazy I had to say that shit, Blood)
Interior coke white, smooth like Cool Whip
Sold the shit to Rick Ross, 80 thou’, a cool flip
Then I got that vibrant thing, my lil’ Q-tip
That Maserati a problem, especially with the dual shift
0 to 60, and WHOO! It’s like a mule kick
I swear to God like the preacher in the pool pit
Speakin of pools, mine heated, come through bitch
Long as it’s La Perla, I don’t care who you come through with
(Canadian, Spanish, French, nigga whatever!)
Minage in the deep end, head on the back end
I wanna fuck the Asian bitch, next time leave your fat friend
Why the fuck y’all in the Honda all packed in?
Headed to Inglewood, say wassup to Mack 10
Say wassup to Glock 9, I’m back on you nigga’s heads
L.A. would be a ghost-town if I wanted nigga’s dead
Run with my Goon Squad cause more than half you nigga’s Fed’s
It’s either that, you ATF or one of 50’s friend’s
(I see the wires hangin’ out you nigga’s Levi’s)
Well fuck it though cause the nigga did let me in
But he ain’t wanna see the Game in HD on ESPN
I think the boy’s John-in’, we was the best of friends
Then shit flipped, went to his holmes like I was Mexican
We all know the rest, put the burner to his chest
Hit him with “300 Bars” and let the streets do the rest
Yes! Terror is over you can eat now, Jayceon(Jason) killed Freddy
The WHOLE world can SLEEP now!
(Dream-snatcher, that’s ME now)
Take your money lay yo’ bitch ass on the beach now
I can see it, a G-Unit beach towel
Another man on it, ya’ll ’bout to tan on it?
Send some lil’ goons by to kick some fuckin’ sand on it
We ain’t watchin’, go ‘head nigga, jam on it
Damn homie in high school you was the man homie
You was lucky in Manhattan, the clip jammed
But come to Cali you a moose in some quicksand
(Sink nigga, like a fuckin’ boat with bullet-holes in it)
Buttersoft Banks, you a bitch man
Me and you was cool ’til 50 unscrewed your kickstand
And Yayo, turn in your senior citizen wristband
Slap the shit out you for @LilHenchman
And just like the old days, I play the bench man
Dre play the big hand, I’m cool with the 6th man
Never selfish nigga, I’m eatin shellfish nigga
My legacy will never die, the black Elvis nigga
(Come check me out in Graceland nigga, pull the guitar out and e’rrything)
Glock by my pelvis, clip by the waistline
On the block like Chris Bosh, shoot it from the baseline
We at the 350 mark, it’s break time
(Ayyo, go get the L out the car man…
Naw, this Purple Haze nigga, I’m ’bout to roll this shit up
Get high nigga, finish this mothafuckin’ “400 Barz”
Naw, my key’s right there… By that, by that, Cocunut Ciroc… Yeah, Let’s Go
Yo, and tell The Runners I’m hungry man
Get me some Frech Toast, Bacon and shit)
Run up on you with 50 bean’s and 50 chef’s
Niggas thinkin’ it’s a game, tryna push “select”
Call a time out, like I’m OUT!
All these soft ass Rappers fakin’ the crime route
Niggas got real quiet now that Shyne out
Don’t make me smuggle ’em outta Belize and pull them 9’s out
Niggas scared now, my Goon Squad here now
We turnin’ on the headlights and runnin over deer’s now
(Yeah… All up in the wood’s, what’s good!?)
And I’m the only one you Rap niggas should fear now
You see a G-Unit poster, you better tear it down
I’m talkin’ to you mothafucker, so turn around
The beef forever lives, never ever put ya burner down
I beat the shit out these niggas, they Tina Turner now
Stripped of their manhood, ass naked like they Shermin’ out
While I peel the top on the block and just burn it out
Hit the strip club with my niggas and just turn it OUT!
(Ayyo, that’s Jeezy mothafuckin’ Lambo’? Shit cold nigga)
They got free hot wings, they bringin full serving’s out
It’s all good, we straight, time to perm’ it out
Katt Williams, run up in ya house, tie you up
And make you watch while we run through your spouse
Rip off her fuckin’ blouse! Tiger Woods been in this?
No thank you, pass that bitch to Menace
Get what I came for, stuff it inside the Range doors
380 bars and get ready for the main course
(Yo, gimme a couple of them napkins, a salad fork… I’m starvin’ nigga!)
June 15th, one of us gotta change course
But not the one that spit 400, blunt’d and ain’t hoarse
8 plaques on the wall, hang yours
Before you get one, I’ll probly have 8 more
It never been about the money with me
Just been about tryna get my nigga somethin’ to eat
Take ’em on a couple of tours, get ’em somethin’ to beat
Never satisfied, that’s why we keep the gun’s on his feet
(Yeah… All I know is block’s, Glock’s and Ciroc… Let’s Get It!)
Who got a blunt I can chief? Nigga’s runnin around like Indians
But near not one of’em chief
Killa California, I’m just one of the beasts
Take a fuckin’ blood bath and bathe myself with the beef(UHH!)
It’s the home stretch but I ain’t even home yet
Only thing can stop me, is ME, I’m my own threat
Eatin’ Lobster’s, writin’ Al Capone checks
I still ain’t on the level of N.O.R.E. or Capone yet
(Nigga’s gon’ learn, respect the veteran’s… Nigga, apologize to Cube)
But after this year, and after this here
Niggas won’t see the throne for another 6 years
P.S. mothafucker, ain’t no bitch here!
I’m goin’ out the same way I came in, 5th gear
I see the finish line, SHIT YEAH!
(It’s time to celebrate, Kanary bring that Cris’ here
Sticks tell Crack bring the car around the back)
400 and 6 bars… BITCH, it’s a WRAP!

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