Fucked Up

The Game

Album Hoodmorning (No Typo): Candy Coronas

Intro: Game

These niggas got me fucked up (x5)
These niggas got me, I think
These niggas got me fucked up

Verse 1: Game

I be on the block with that chrome boy, Postin’ up with my home boy
Leanin’ on the 2 tone boy, What you want for them zones boy
10-5? 10-4, put it on the scale, add a little more
Take a shot of that ‘tron boy, bag it up and then gone boy
They givin’ quarters out, watch yourself on that phone boy
They gave me seventeen, his mama singing that song boy
We gettin’ money baby, we gettin’ cash money
Stuntin’ like the Birdman, sittin’ on my dash
120 on the dash, 4 Giottos on the wheeeeeels (on the wheels)
Paper stacking’s too long boy, blowing Cheech and that Chong boy
Better watch that tone boy, headshots to that dome boy

Hook: Game

These niggas got me fucked up (x5)
They got me, I think
These niggas got me fucked up
Hold up, these bitches got me fucked up (x3)
I think these bitches got me fucked up

Verse 2: Menace

Think a nigga trip the way I walk around
Gotta keep that pistol on my hip to lay them haters down
Gotta keep them bitches on my dick then I bring Game around
Paper stash gon’ break em down, fuck ’em hard don’t make a sound
I’m all up in your trap boy, ride around with that pistol
Gotta keep the bitch in my lap boy, hater niggas, come get ya
Made my niggas rab, my niggas clean, we do it, dare try to intervene
Thats suicide fuckin’ with my team, I’m blowing clouds and I’m ’bout the cream
Yeah, and I’m bout that shit, we for of chips, and I’m flossin’ hoes
Y’all full of shit, not suckin’ the O’s, I’m too legit and I’m tippin’ 4’s
You niggas really want it, bitches lookin’ silly for it
Really kin the whip is foreign, niggas lookin’ real important

Verse 3: Game

Say boy, ever had a bitch all up in your crib
Stickin’ that dick all up in the ribs
Then she tell fuck niggas where you live
And now they all up in your shit
Flippin’ matresses over, turnin’ couches sideways
They thinkin’ crime pays
Got a choppa
For the niggas that don’t understand how the fuck we ope-
-rate and anyway get back on top of my paper chase
Kush burnin’, slow dragon, 29’s, been had ’em
Niggas take shots, then runnin’ high
We’ll find their ass, Bin Ladin
Me and Mike in the Benz wagon, better watch your block boy
Purple clouds of that Pepé Le Pew, I’m gone of that Ciroc boy
Clipped up to that pop boy, holdin’ on to that knot boy
Palms grippin’ that Glock boy, we comin’ back for them yachts boy


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