The Game feat. JT & Get Low Work Hard 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
  • (feat. Get Low, JT)
    [JT]
    Get Low Records ************
    Bringin the best to the table
    Bluechip, Nina be , {?}, what it is
    JT Get Low ************ that's what it is ************
    Yeah, who ****in with us *****
    Now (what goes around comes around)
    I'm puttin this clique up ***** against all you *****z
    Now get it right

    [Verse One: Bluechip]
    Hey yo, this is where I see me in this game
    Benz Coupe, Maserati, plus I got your ***** all in the Range
    And y'all *****z ain't gon' do ****, soon as your crew spit
    My tool spit, metal to your side, watch you lose hips
    And I ain't want to take it there but **** it we can bang
    My Cali headbusters'll show you how to throw them things
    I'm too connected like John Gotti and Nino
    For a small fee they find your body wreakin out in Reno
    I know the *****z that sell weight, and *****z that stick the *****z
    That sell weight, hammer close behind me like when you tailgate
    I know you a snitch, I can see it in your eyes
    Shackled up, D.O.C.'s, all my *****z on that ride
    You can, stunt if you wanna, Chip is a gunner
    Been reignin/rainin since ninety-six now it's time for the thunder

    [Verse Two: Nina B]
    In your mind you can blame me but open your mouth and name me
    I'm runnin you out of office you're softer than Bush and Cheney
    Go 'head, and try to play me I do you like I was Amy Fisher
    Smokin a Swisher like I wish a ***** would
    Listen and use your vision cause livin in this - hood
    And sinnin in your division you think it's all - good
    Got *****z on (Death Row) and it ain't about Suge
    *****z that stay home they scared to come out shook
    Mothers with five kids and all of 'em got took
    It's right in these *****z face, but they just will not look
    I'm tired, of the B.S. I'm cheatin {?} some rejects
    Even though we make the best of what little respect, we get
    This is the life, that was given to me
    A rich-*** ***** that's what I'm fittin to be
    Brooklyn to Bangkok I'm beggin to be
    And don't nobody write, what I'm spittin but me
    Nina be

    [Chorus: JT]
    We 'bout to blow this *****
    *****z work hard in the game so they notice this, what
    We 'bout to blow this *****
    *****z work hard in the game so they notice this, what
    Underground with it, poppin collars now
    Bust yo' **** *****, put them guns down
    Put yo' knuckles up, catch you slippin dawg
    That's how we do it independent now we 'bout to ball

    [Verse Three]
    For years *****z sold me dreams that got me gassed
    Made me want to get revenge or get the hockey mask
    Got beef? Yo the burner's in the lobby stashed
    Get your crew if you want, all them *****z is probably ***
    I take the long way, **** takin the shortcut
    Now we got corporate sponsorships wrappin our tour bus
    A quick 32, yo them shits is like warmups
    It ain't coincidental in the hood we was born tough
    You chump or get chumped, punk or get punked
    Save your lil' craps homey, **** it get drunk
    Was one at the top, but now I'm back at the bottom
    Most 'em hate to spit with me cause when I rap I surprise 'em
    **** is real, that's why I stay strapped with a condom
    I keep 31 flavors just like Baskin & Robbins
    I'm here now, y'all supposed to be stressed, scared to death
    That you gonna be next, record labels, promote the rejects
    While starvin artists is closest to sets
    And certain *****z duckin me because they owe me a check
    I spit more heat, than a bowl of chili, y'all *****z know the deally
    So turn the music up and roll a Philly

    [Verse Four: JT]
    Yeah, roll the Philly or Swisher Sweet
    And I ain't trippin while you *****z just stand on your feet
    Figgaro done walked in the building, it's time to expand
    Comin with hundreds of grands and hundreds of plans
    You see this Black Wall Street is for the po' broke and hongry
    None of my *****z on the corner never be lonely
    Stuck in the gutter mayne, coke packs like Tony
    Bricks and pounds of weed half the city owe me
    My shipment too big, frontin out the homies
    I ain't even trippin mayne my pockets never lonely
    Benjamin Franklins and Grants stick together like
    Boys in tough weather makin noise forever, ahhhh
    Yeah mayne, it's real **** ***** and we independent *****
    **** what'chu heard dawg, independent is where the money is at *****
    **** all your major labels *****, that's what it is
    JT the Bigga Figga, Nina be [fades out]

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