The Game Buddens Lyrics:
[Game Talking]
we got a problem Houston, not Marques Houston or
his little rapping side kick, we got a real mutha
fuckin' problem, and its only gonna be one of
these songs, after that ima knock your mutha
fuckin' ass out [Verse 1]
bitch niggas get put in the coffin with all that
psychopath talking, you listening to the source
and I ain't from boston, I'm gang banging, red
G-6's call em' how I see em', these niggas
is bitches, and clue put this nigga on a song and
now its g-unit, and I came to get it on, you
ain't hot, nigga you luke warm, ill hog tie your
ass with g-unit shoes on, you had pump it up that
was a cool song, you only sold 10 records nigga
now move on, talking 'bout you got ratchets and
tools on when you was at the all-star game with no
jewels on, I cant believe I gave you dap, with the
45 on me I should of gave you that, pistol whipped
you laid you flat, jump off buddens nah, disgrace
to a yankee hat, and its time to state my biz,
only nigga pushing rock in jersey is jason kidd,
you a phony nigga I'll erase your wig, have you
running to the church like Masen did. [Chorus]
Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens,
Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens,
Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens,
Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens,
Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens [Verse 2]
you don't know me fool, to diss me on dj clue, I
don't need no assistance to dig you a ditch, and
any problem I got I just put my clip in, you fake
like janet's titty, one call 300 bloods in
atlantic city, you bad boy then dance like diddy,
I give celebrity beat downs, I bring the camera
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with me, on that mixtape shit you knew my man was
50, and I keep something chrome in the tanish
dickeys, smoke niggas like a gram of sticky, and I
know my way to harlem ill take you to bransons
with me, come to Compton you'll vanish quickly,
I got niggas in the hood that'll kill you for a
can of mickey's, gangs in L.A. we never die, and
we'll let hollow tips fly at Joe [Chorus]
[Verse 3]
I drive through the desert storm kick up dust, red
and blue rags hanging out of pick up trucks, get
banks on the phone, nigga hit young buck, tell
em' we got a problem with this dumb fuck, you
was just in the city of angels in the W lobby in
the presence of gangsters, I'm the nigga
that'll beat you with the stainless and leave
you alive so you can run and tell stain bitch, I
got niggas in jersey that'll hang you, im a los
angeles king with new york rangers, and you lucky
yayo got that beeper on his ankle, joe buddens the
true definition of a wankster [Chorus]
[Game Talking]
this nigga try to act like he ain't know what
the fuck he was doing, you knew what you was doing
nigga, stop lying to the fuckin' people nigga,
gone jump on a freestyle nigga on that fly shit,
try to diss g-unit nigga, and im on the fuckin'
first verse, you aint slick nigga, I caught that
shit like a mutha fuckin' greg maddox fast ball
nigga, 50 get dre on the phone, see if that nigga
remember what joe buddens second single was, cuz I
don't. I took a survey in the hood nigga, went
to the projects asked bitches if they feeling your
shit, they was like no, haha, I went to the hood
asked niggas if they was feeling your shit, they
was like no, than I went to jersey, caught me a
fuckin flight man took my last 500 dollars man,
flew to jersey, asked niggas in jersey if they
like your shit, they was like no, so I said fuck
it, ima take this nigga mutha fuckin head off,
blackwall street, aftermath, g-g-g-g-unit, you
know what it is nigga and you know where to find
me
Lyrics: Buddens, The Game [end]