Game feat. E-40 & Big Boi Speakers on Blast Lyrics

The R.E.D. Album Track Listing
Digital Media 1
  • 1 Dr. Dre Intro
  • 2 The City
  • 3 Drug Test
  • 4 Martians vs. Goblins
  • 5 Red Nation
  • 6 Dr. Dre, Part 1
  • 7 Good Girls Gone Bad
  • 8 Ricky
  • 9 The Good, the Bad, the Ugly
  • 10 Heavy Artillery
  • 11 Paramedics
  • 12 Speakers on Blast
  • 13 Hello
  • 14 All the Way Gone
  • 15 Pot of Gold
  • 16 Dr. Dre, Part 2
  • 17 All I Know
  • 18 Born in the Trap
  • 19 Mama Knows
  • 20 California Dream
  • 21 Dr. Dre Outro
  • 22 Basic Bitch
  • It's not usual, the game be, all up on some South ****
    Straight west coasting, you can tell by my outfit
    Red 'nati fitted, "Blood in, Blood out" ****
    Empty jelly jars, *****, bird in the couch ****
    The mad rapper, Oscar the Grouch ****
    Except when I'm hopping out of cans, I'm pulling out ****
    Dippin' the four though, double X 3-D Polo
    If hip-hop was the league, I'd be the **********in' logo

    Your last **** was so-so, you should sign to Jermaine
    I've been hard since I was solo
    *****s they feel my pain, I make it rain without the strippers
    Go against the grain, and push your **** back like some clippers
    I bang and then I hang out at the Staples like Blake Griffin
    You can tell I'm getting money the way that glass house is sitting
    I mash out the strip then like Nash when I'm dippin'
    Feeling like God's son, the way that it was written

    Them boys want they music on blast
    Don't turn it down, turn it up every time them cops pass
    Mashed on the gas, am I getting high, don't even ask
    'Cause I got another ounce up in the stash
    Them boys want they music on blast
    Don't turn it down, turn it up every time them cops pass
    Mashed on the gas, am I getting high, don't even ask
    'Cause I take two hits, and then I pass

    I see the cops in the rear view,
    Why can't a ************ chill in the car
    Feelin' like Missy, why you all up in my grill
    They must know that I got bird stashed all up in my grill
    Camouflage by the armor all while it's sparkling off my wheels
    And I **** hoes that prey on Dwight Howard and Shaquille
    Not them throwback rats they be on showin' on college hill
    For real, I think my first album sold five mil'

    And you say to yourself that he is broke
    Well how the hell am I ballin', like Spalding
    I did a couple of movies, now agents calling and calling
    Can't get to the phone right now because my boss is all in this ***** mouth
    When did we start taking these tricks out?
    Now she gon' run her big mouth and tell her girlfriend
    You had her all up in the wind blowing yo cheese on Louie Vuittons
    And now that ***** is in the wind and after the next draft,
    She gon' start that cycle again
    How you claimin' that ***** when she with him, come again 'cause


    Daddy fat sex, my balls are on your chin,
    But can you tell me where my ****'s at?
    Gat or ghetto, head hunter, head buster through the chit-chat
    I skip to the lou, my darling bring the thunder,
    I'm the lightning that strikes twice
    ************, call me master
    'Cause I run the plantation and I'm whooping *****s asses
    If they disrespect the presentation, below the Mason-Dixon,
    We facin' the basses that were missin' pimpin'

    You can embrace it or come face to face with total devastation
    My mojo is never fadin', I'm in my Optimus Prime transform
    Switch it up, heat it up, speed it up, that means I'm gone
    Light years, ahead of your Buzz, Toy Stories and club songs
    Black home, the A-T-L-iens are phoning home
    But I feel like a librarian,
    'Cause style's are being loaned out like books
    A castle full of crooks, rape and pillage
    They'll do anything for money while misleading the village


    Not from New England, but I pack a patriot
    Not from Atlanta, but I got the cater
    Not from Chicago, but I'm a bear
    I'm a bay area *****, 49er, Raider
    I'm about my bread man, I ain't no sucker
    Now these ***** *** *****s soft as table butter
    I'm about my riches, magazines, street hustler
    You can ask your uncles, daddies, mothers, and your older brothers

    But I used to flee through that yellow white, yo right
    Sellin' that **** below the retail price
    I'm a rare breed like the bike club, get it right
    Desperado like Tori Amos, shout out to dynamite
    I got my red cup, and some green
    What kind of green you smoking pimp? Blue dream
    My ***** let me hit that there hemp, do your thing
    How many woofers in your trunk? 4 15s


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