lyrics:
Vese 1 :Pop the Rémy, kick back and let the player represents High floss, true boss came to take aim These suckers wannabe-us they can please your green I bend whores on a down low; banks obscene You wanna chill with these niggaz that you wish you could And suck game out my ass like sponges, I run this You can't fuck with my steelo; you niggaz born to be low When I'm on the East I play Ceelo, cash flow A one track mind, serial hustler Quick to break a buster, you snitch bitch I dust ya Bently balling bastard; no hustler faster Game maker, I knock a white girl to break her You can't see me motherfucker; your focus is off You can't be me motherfucker; you're broke and soft Too many niggaz trying to pert my lifestyle by romancing I was kicking game and y'all kids was break-dancing Overlord; so why the whack niggaz is fucking dead? Probably because my aim is over nigga's heads Eastcoast, Westcoast, I play the whole map and bounce You got a Benz but you're living in you mamma's house
Verse 2 :I kick back and bump my rap tapes late I turn out the lights, makes you shit right Yeah, I kicks back in the leather, gets my thoughts together Listen to the emcees that kick it clever Ill type flows and complicated vocal batter Meticulous, verbal assaults and topic matter The sence chills through my bones When I hear an MC rips a microphone, I got a rap Jones But when he starts keep it game, he's my reign cousin You thought I let slide by, real players knew I wasn't I want to let you look into a magazine and dream the name a thousand damn designers, you ain't never motherfucking seen One day, yes, one day, you might get it But when I see you on the streets, kid, you look pathetic I mass the street game when I was younger Old hustlers said I got that true pimp hunger That's why I got the mad street clout And when you see me on the street I would be buttas no boubt .
Verse 3 : There's only one thing worse than a player hater, that's a player faker Ain't never have been through nothing; you're fronting Dear God; I can't imagine what it's like to rap about a lifestyle that you ain't never lived in fucking life VERSACE!! but you're barely got a fucking belt LOS VAGUS!! and you ain't never wrote the fucking felt Niggaz know the Ice is clean as treasuries plates Whether mashing in the sex, or licking high for gates My reputation is like bulletproof Known to mash-by in the Limo' with hookers hanging out the roof The gangster blueprints your work off, kid What you're praying that you do, yo, I done already did Never claimed to be the greatest rapper and I don't give a fuck Only claimed to be a hustler, known how to check a buck You'll wake up one day and realize; just because your skills can pay me Your reals might not be paid, G, come back down to reality You're broke as fuck, I know, you player-hatin me
