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Gravediggaz - Running Game on Real lyrics
[Intro: Frukwan] Yo, it's that Brooklyn shit! Y'all niggas ready? NAAAAAAAH! Y'all ready? YEEEAH! Yo, oh shit [Chorus: Frukwan] Runnin game on bail A nigga might find it hard walkin alone in a graveyard Runnin game on bail And if ya can't compete I'll leave ya 6 Feet Deep, nigga! [Frukwan] Yo, I be the Pied Piper, enlightener, holy cipher Watch the God strike like a viper Potential energy pumps the mainstream Warn a nigga, crazy enough to return the dust My chrome crushed the image, considered it a mess Jump the C.O., bust the captain, and hop the fence Did manuveur like a cougar, usin night vision Interrogate intruders, rest, puff my Buddha The grand child, father of mad style Battle Gods on file, exiled since I lost the trial Behold, control niggas like croaks, insert dats Death blow, aim and hit straight to the heart It's a strong wind, niggas is thin as tin strips Immeasureable wealth, campaignin that wack shit The barriers ready, engaged lock finder Fox 1, launch the sidewinder Gothic hip-hop break, I blast microscopic bars Til it ends communication, only seen through Allah God body, search Darth Khadafi, killa of Nazis Take heads like Jake DiViassi Clips of snake venom, toos rock, instructor, destruct Just burnt from lyrical reflux Tramp through decisions, battlin and collisions High speed, still a nigga tryin to breathe, what nigga? [Chorus x4] [Poetic] I come with the Killa Arm-Leg-a-Leg-a-Arm-Head Ready with the bomb threat, fuck all of the calm shit Waitin til the bomb hits, make a nigga vomit Cuz he gave it all when preparin to respond wit My correspondece, only young foes fall as soldiers in the Cold War Powered by solar Always in the trench, intense until I dent The armour of the Devil brigade, slugs are spent And dark rebels invade your tent, with the intent To leave your body bent, I let the shotty vent To lay your chest, penetrate your vest Look for your family traits, as you defecate You're dyin in the stench, nothin can prevent A violent takeover, the modern J. Hova Cannot be tempted by no type payola Colder than the Polar, your bling-bling is over Fuck all you fake Costra Nostras Grym is a real street soldier, put you in a deep coma Your weak streak is over, finito I sting like 10 million mosquitoes with hypodermic needles [Chorus x4] |
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 All the Way by Calloway |
 Fear of Flying by Mya |
 Version by Mark Ronson |
 Tomorrow and Yesterday by Samson |
 Ghetto Classics by Jaheim |
