The Game feat. Sky Put It in the Air Lyrics

West Coast Resurrection Track Listing
CD 1
  • 1 Intro
  • 2 The Streetz of Compton
  • 3 Blacksox
  • 4 Krush Groove
  • 5 Troublesome
  • 6 Rookie Card
  • 7 Promised Land
  • 8 Gutta Boyz
  • 9 Put It in the Air
  • 10 Desperados
  • 11 100 Barz and Gunnin
  • 12 Work Hard
  • 13 Untold Story
  • 14 Outro
  • [Verse 1: Sky Balla]
    Who's hot, who's not; I been the hottest thing
    On the West, ever since the death of 2Pac
    Kept my crack in clear capsules with blue tops
    And it's still nothin for me to get you shot
    You see him? Yup, the same ol' pimp
    Sky baller, and ain't nuttin changed but my limp
    Natural born player, mine not a lame or a simp
    The world is mine, you see my name on a blimp
    Stay Dolce Gabbana'd down, play the Bahamas now
    Youse a donkey, I'mma piranha clown
    I keep thick bread, in the pockets of my sweats
    While I'm drivin I get head in the cockpit of my 'Vette
    And my game is sharp as a mosquito's needle
    As far as the charts, Young S be's the Beatles
    Purple haze smoke in the urr, blow in the wind
    The rims right there when I stop they still go and they spin
    I can teach you how to stunt boy, and pop that trunk boy
    Them city slickers ain't never been punks boy
    So fix your ice grill, and your mean mug
    Unless you wanna feel a few M-16 slugs

    [Hook: The Game](x2)
    Nigga you got a blunt then put it in the air
    Nigga you got a gun then put it in the air
    Nigga you from a gang then put in in the air
    Play with Killa Cali if you want, muh'fuckers

    [Verse 2: The Game]
    I ain't got no time for fake ones, so don't think for a second
    I won't pull this forty-five and put your stomach where your neck is
    If I tell you kiss the sky better respect it
    Or get yo' ass hog-tied, butt-ass naked
    I'm doin this for Eazy, like it or not
    I wouldn't even be rappin if Eric Wright wouldn'ta dropped
    I love this shit, I work and I'm good
    I ain't on corner fuckers but I'm still in the hood
    I'm poised to go platinum, that's what the magazines sayin
    Fuck The Source, I got my own magazines man
    I call her Shirley, she got a 32 round clip
    And she love hangin out wit'chu girlies
    I'm like them Philly nigs that come through "Early"
    Through your front door without knockin like Mr. Furley
    It's just me, you and the semi - "Three's Company"
    You want the crown, you be U.G.K. like Bun B

    [Hook]

    [Verse 3: Sky Balla]
    I rock jewels, cop tools, I will not lose
    A million miles a minute is how my block moves
    I stay in the fast lane, never fakin, cheddar chasin
    I'm in the game for the cash mayne
    And bitches play this in they Benzes, Jeeps and G.O.'s
    They say I'm arrogant and got a big ego
    But they still love to swallow me up
    And every hotel suite, they wanna follow me up
    But I ain't gon' put my dick in for free, nah ma
    You want the kid then you gotta pay this pimpin a fee
    And ain't no champagne left, so let's toast 'gnac
    Sky baller and Game 'bout to bring the West coast back
    I'm on that get dough shit, that Frank War{?} pimpin that ho shit
    In Cali smokin that 'dro shit
    I still push fishscale, and china white
    A lil' nigga with a big gun and I ain't tryin to fight

    [Hook]

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