The Game

Album Hoodmorning (No Typo): Candy Coronas

Verse 1: Game

My car, my bitch nigga, everything major
My niggas they shoot like Indiana Pacers
Indiana Hoosiers don’t get marked by the laser
Wet your fucking team up, meaning hollows will bathe ya
Red phantom pink slip, everything paid for
Black 24’s lips fatter than Fantasia’s
Had a bitch from Asia, put her up on the chronic
And her name Soo Woo, isn’t it ironic?
My bars Grey Goose and tonic, and when I vomit
Respect me like Mohamed, but nigga I’m not Islamic
All about my profit, angel in the cockpit
Devil in the rearview, heaven’s the only option
Angel on the hood like Reverend Run’s crooks
Today I’m feeling good riding in his holy ghost
Hate me like I’m God’s son, wanna see me deceased?
Break the 6th commandment if you run up on this Jesus piece

Hook: Gucci Mane

My whip like wow, my wrist like chick like neck iced out
My rims like wow, I’m smoking right now
You cry and say ow, cause my gun go pow

Verse 2: Gucci Mane

Balling, like Amar’e
I’m not an athlete but it’s a track meet
I’m on a great run, the world love me
Some love to hate me, it’s all gravy
I’m so icy, so punch your brakes nigga
Ice cream on my face, it ain’t your face nigga
I’m on my grind constant, yeah my grind constant
While you cross counties, we cross continents
Yellow diamonds on my wrist it’s looking like a omelette
I’m not a bumpkin, my trap bunkin’
I got onions, squares for you
Powerful goons, prepared for you
So what the move blood, I’m tattood up
I’m a straight thug, I keep a coke plug
So what the move blood, I’m tattood up
I’m a straight thug, I keep a coke plug

Verse 3: Game

Game, Gucci, we onto something major
Chains, coochie, light it up like Vegas
Down goes Frasier, my shooters like Peja
And we keep that Lupe run when you see them lasers
We be them trailblazers smoking kush from Malaysia
Still trapping, like back then, now iPhones is pagers
Click clackin, what’s happening .45 at you haters
Keep yapping, I’m clapping, T.I. know we takers
Nigga, I don’t give a damn, them sixes sitting ceiling fans
Get your boss on your phone cause we don’t fuck with middle men
Hit your boss at your home fucking with my little man
Where I’m from it’s off with your dome for just a kilogram
Gucci they talking about that tat up on your face
Must of forgotten them boys you shot nigga murder was the case
This summer is ours ain’t a motherfucker safe
And in the fall, I’m puttin’ 5 mill in a fucking safe like


Une erreur dans nos lyrics, proposez-nous une correction :
Participez et envoyez nous un nouveau lyrics :