The Breakdown (200 Bars & Runnin’)

The Game

Album You Know What It Is, Vol. 2: Throwin’ Rocks At the Throne


What the fuck is all this noise?
He from Cali, he can’t rap
He ain’t better than this nigga
That’s my favorite artist
Fuck y’all, hear the breakdown..


No detox, I’m comfortable dog
Like the solo Reeboks right up under me dog
And it feel like I done it before
Sit in the throne pollutin the airwaves like a Hummer exhaust
Don’t let Makaveli fool you homie, thugging it costs
Pour out a little liquor for the loved ones that we lost
You ain’t gotta wait for the album I don’t fuck with The Source
But I turn up my Eazy-E and let it bump in the Porsche
I mean turn up my B.I.G. and let it bump in the Porsche
Tell ’em to roll red carpet when he come in New York
Hip-hop police on me think they runnin New York
Till I lace my Air1 show ’em how to run in New York
They tryin to take me downtown put me under the court
Cause Joe Buddens told ’em I carry a gun in New York
And homey that’s strictly fact, he got ripped on wax
So he snitched just to get me back
No matter what you say dog, your shit be whack
You better watch what you say, it might get you clapped
Here’s a little advice, homie: switch your raps
Cause that shit on your last album ain’t get you plat
What nigga you need a gun? I’ll get you that
P-89 nigga let Dre stitch you back
It ain’t an industry, niggas I admit to that
But I don’t even want your chain, I’ll let the Crips do that
12 bars for that bitch, he won’t live through that
Even a nigga with a ten year bid knew that
Put a gun in his mouth yeah, yeah do that
He a pussy (sniff, sniff) his own kid knew that
I’m Ready To Die, B.I.G. knew that
He ain’t eatin, look at his white tee you could see his ribs through that
You cocksucker, let your ears do that
Or ride later do me ooh wee now back to rap
2 Lincoln Continentals sittin back to back
Leavin’ Jersey City naw nigga, Hackensack
Where’s that? Somewhere where the crackers at
Real far from where the roaches and rats is at
Come to Compton I’ll show you where the racquet’s at
Down the street from the Staples Center where they Hack-a-Shaq
Give the advance money back, I ain’t have to rap
Break Harry-O out tell him crack is back
That’s nine five a bird take half of that
Import it, export it in cracker jacks
When you get to the projects, ask for Black
You know what you started with? Give him half of that
He gon give you 50 G’s in a plastic sack
And I’mma give you 3,500 cash for that
Gotta keep your mouth closed or I’mma blast the mac
They won’t believe you the whole world know that bastard rap
Once you’re out of the throne, you can’t have it back
Retirement home and ain’t nothing after that
Except you layin’ in a casket, black suit on
You can’t go to heaven with Timberland boots on
No subliminals, I ain’t talkin to you Shawn
I’m talkin to that heartless mouse with no jewels on
Who the fuck put you on
Faggot ass nigga let men toss his salad like croutons
I fuck with Fab, get my DJ Clue on
Sit inside Hot 97 with no tools on
And it don’t matter if it’s Sway or Kay Slay
Angie Martinez I’ll take ’em back to KDAY
They act like they forgot about Dre-day
I don’t rap for Free that’s why they fired AJ
It’s me leaking through your stereo
Envy me as an MC, prepare for your burial
I kill niggas without lettin’ the Desert blow
Razor tongue and I’m far from Haitian son
All black like the Range Rover wheels
Niggas whisper around The Game like The Game won’t kill
Let me show you the scars, take you back to the car
Rewind time, March 3, 1994
I was only in my teens, deuce-deuce in my Levi’s
When Nas hit the scene I was still rockin’ knee-highs
Runnin’ with my brother Fase, he was 17
Two guns in the upper waist, so we hit the block
Saw niggas from a rival gang bumpin Dre
Ran up on the ’64 and that’s all she wrote
We runnin through the alley like Bishop chasin’ Radames
First murder and I did that without a mask
Fast-forward, see Game gettin out a Jag
Two piece suit on, he still got his rag
Gangbangin’ forever, he still got his swag
Let me catch you in Los Angeles without a pass
Everybody in New York know that you a fag
Come out the closet, show the world how to use a pad
Speakin’ death on my red bandana
Naw, he couldn’t have said that, so I raised my antennas
Look at my Nextel, got a call from Santana
That nigga a pussy, we just saw him in Atlanta
So I hopped on the first thing smokin’ to Atlanta
Pulled up at 112 ran up on that black Phantom
Security hopped out, no Joe in here
Just Outkast gettin’ ready for a show in here
So I uncocked the .44
Hopped in the cherry low-low
Chrome grill with the G-Unit logo
We watched Hov go, now the world waitin for my solo
I’m the man, Stat Quo know
I ain’t gotta explain, even Bo know
Half of these rap niggas is faker than rolls gold
Get hit in the face with the back of the .44
And pissed on tryin to play The Game with a broke nose
My bitch harder than you, yeah Vida loco
I ain’t sold one record got rap in a chokehold
I’m Dre certified like the leader of the band
Run up, you sure to die, I’ll leave you where you stand
Smurf-ette runnin around New York like he the man
But he peed in his pants when he saw us at Summer Jam
Lucky I wasn’t there, I had to bury my man
Or I would’ve terrorized New York like the Son Of Sam
“What you mean terrorize New York?”
I mean expose these pussy ass niggas like I’m Too $hort
Somebody tell Domination I’ll leave him in parts
Leg in Jersey, arm in Brooklyn, head buried in Central Park
He can’t walk through New York no more like John Stark
Got a call cause I’m a break his ankles like Hot-Sauce
Ask niggas from your hood I’m thorough in 5 boroughs
Sit on any stoop, Pelli Tims in the thermal
Wait till Alpo come home
Like Azie from Harlem, Dre gon’ pay me regardless
Cause he know Jay-Z departed
And these other rap labels know don’t feed they artists
Talkin blueprint shit you got three garages
Gettin money off Roc like little E and Carter
Showin off your little chain like these is flawless
Send him 50 cent a day I can see he starvin’
I got R&B bitches givin’ me ménages
Deep massages, I could hear Eazy talkin
Tellin me to have a seat in Tomica’s office
Buy Ruthless and get Lil’ E involved in
Promote without that magazine in Boston
Take a couple mil, make Beans a offer
Give him money we don’t see that often
But it was all a dream, like I seen Memph Bleek in Marcy
I ain’t say you won’t see Bleek in Marcy
I said my man told me he don’t see Bleek in Marcy
I’m from Compton where niggas used to bleed for Barkley’s
Drive lo-lo’s and we ain’t need keys to start ’em
Just a little information for your summer vacation
Bring your chain cause every nigga in L.A. waitin’
Mad cause Detroit beat the shit out the Lakers
And they’ll kill you cause they can’t find Gary Payton
Meanwhile the throne vacant and Da Band ain’t makin’ it
Shyne got a new deal, Def Jam gotta pay us
Playboy Jones got knocked out shortly after they weighed him in
Niggas got beef with G-Unit but ain’t sayin’ shit
Quiet as a church on Tuesdays
Niggas say they hate my music, but my alert’s on they 2-ways
Nigga I’m a hazard like Michael Jackson in khakis
Touch kids but I do that with a semi-automatic
With or without traffic I pull my shit out and blast it
I’m blind to the masses like Stevie Wonder without glasses
I’m a savage spit murder like a .38 Magnum
16 bars’ll baggum let the hook toe tag ’em
Murder any MC throw ’em in that white wagon
Let him die and come back look at ’em, he white flaggin’
Spreadin’ rumors like, “When I see Game I might jack him”
I’m tellin’ the world: he reach for my chain, I might clap him
Cause niggas shot me in 2001
Took one in the heart cause I was too proud to run
The clip was empty when the police found my gun
So I don’t bring that gangbangin’ shit around my son
Nigga 50 took 9 he know how it feel
And I found out Buck got shot up in Cashville
And Sha Money told me Lloyd Banks got hit
And Yayo just came home (G-G-G-Unit)
Backstage at a D-12 concert
A fan asked me how it feel to be walkin in Snoop’s Converse
Niggas show me love when they see me in the streets
But they frown when I don’t want to hear none of they beats
Nigga, this shit crazy
Em said some shit when was 16, now they tryin to ruin Slim Shady
I forgive him, I got problems of my own
How you think the streets gon’ act now that Suge got home
These niggas is birds, I can see the feathers on ’em
If Doc give me the word, I put this Berretta on ’em
When the beef is on, my piece is on
White sheets is on ’em, Doc breathin on ’em
And I got an extra clip in my Reeboks
Cause I’m in and out my socks every time I see cops
Game got the streets locked
Call 911, get the whole fuckin LAPD shot
Niggas snitchin’ to the street cops
Get your nephews and your niece shot
When my heat cocked, then the beat stop
Nigga with a attitude like I heard Dr. Dre doin’ “Detox”
Niggas fightin’ for the throne that ain’t shit
Tryin to measure the fallin’ legends but the shoe won’t fit
Niggas might think I’m ridin’ dick
Cause I’m at the cemetery puttin creases in my G-Unit’s
Tryin to talk to Jesus Christ into lettin’ me dig ’em up
So they could stand side by side again and live it up
This might be the last time you hear me biggin ’em up
With “Suicidal Thoughts” bangin’ me and my bitch in the truck
My conscience tellin’ me if I put the clip in the buck
It might be loud enough to wake B.I.G and them up
What if that was P. Diddy sittin’ in the truck
And 2Pac was in jail the day he recorded “Hit ’em Up”?
I wouldn’t be outside 40/40 bumpin’ Jigga What
Wouldn’t be signed to Dr. Dre, I wonder is it luck
They got me on MTV with Banks, Fifth, and Buck
I ain’t tryin’ to be L.A.’s king, he carry a pimp cup


Snoop Dogg got the crown, nigga
What the fuck y’all mad at me for?
I ain’t sold one fuckin’ record
I’m just tryin’ to use these 200 bars to feed my family, nigga
I ain’t no threat
I can’t rap, I’m from Compton remember?
You gotta be out your motherfuckin’ mind
Ask Kay Slay, ask Clue, ask Whoo Kid, ask Funk Flex
I’ll murder anyone of you motherfuckers

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