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JT the Bigga Figga - Game Tight lyrics
f/ The Fast One * send corrections to the typist [Chorus] Game tight with the shit we pop One love to real niggaz cause the game don't stop From the T-R-U to the D-P-Gs From the Firm to the Wu-Tang Clan for show see Know me fuck around with the mob for show Hit these funksters 3 times crazy and get low Cause everyday everyday fuck all that drama I hit the Bahamas for shows to get paid [J.T. The Bigga Figga] Come on, ease on down, ease on down This funky tack the Fast One done layed down Sipping on Crown Royal, I done found a sick sound Smooth, but rough enough for the underground Now whose gone move the crowd like Mike Mike Jordan But I'm the type that others want to try and be like I recite and shines right with a cordless mic I comes tight with more air than a pair of Nike's I flows constantly sort of like a faucet Lyrical bully, with a bulldozer you couldn't pull me Now blow the douja with this type of shit I'm writing I'm smoking hash ready to clash like the titans Unforgettable like Natalie's remix of her father song I keep my vocals strong, high off the cheech and chong And when ya feel the dome Funny bone makes me tickle I comes colder than the north pole to freeze ya like an icecicle [Chorus] [The Fast One] Up early in the morning channel 42 on cable Pager going off up on my living room table Shaking dominoes with P the reason to stack some more cheese California breezing gets hected in drought season Every time I hit the lab, thinking bout o's With the D-O double D and the Figga you wouldn't know Cause the combination is tighter than 4 knots And you can here the ass cold knocking for 4 blocks And showstops ain't the thang to do County checking no disrespecting them boys in blue And you know I'm for black with green in my pockets Pass a note to the teller at the bank, so I can shock her See, every dollar we stacking is to the ceiling And after love making is for shaking the herbal healin And catching feelings is a no no Breaking more bitches and hitting switches in the low low Bounce and turn, like my homie Makaveli we ain't hard to find Hit a nigga with a drop trying to flip a dime And stacking papers is a daily routine Instead of dope fiends, serving versus teller machines And catching coke kings slipping at the docks at the bay Cause the shit dried up so he put g's on layaway And no mistakes, we lay them down for the stretch Without a shot and had a fully loaded mac On our way to the NYC we drop game With round trip tickets, we kick it on stolen planes And for the things that we can do for ya'll One love to 2Pac, Mr. C and Biggie Smalls And to all the soldiers in the game that we play From the Bronx to the LBC up to the Bay Cause everyday everyday fuck all that drama I hit the Bahamas for shows to get paid [Chorus] |
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