Song lyrics downloaded from: https://www.albumsongandlyrics.com ------------------------------------------ The Game - Blacksox ------------------------------------------ [JT] Another G-Man Stan production The originator of this 808 shit in the Bay area You got your boy JT the Bigga Figga thuggin it out with my young nigga the Game, and my homey Bluechip Blacksox, oh boy! Hooked up with Get Low Records Puttin this shit together, my nigga It aint a nigga in the game that could hold me down Ive been independent forever so they know me now And Im the cat they gotta find when they wanna get signed You wanna get your paper right you gotta study my grind Im like Rush in Krush Groove, a nigga that bust moves right out, and tuck tools, bullets that bust dudes Aint no beef in the briefcase, just beef for Petes sake We round up cats, to beat em in a street race We count paper up, to make a nigga change his plans They under weight so they aint gettin off they gram You mad at my boys, cause we choppin em in They make twenty then the Fig want 10 Thats the rules that the Get Low, play by The block boys stay high, California stock with K-5 Its the rules that the Get Low play by Them block boys stay high, the California K-5 [Chorus: The Game] Huh, its the Blacksox doin a joint together The whole world stoppin to listen, ol breakers poplockin to this And white boys headboppin in 6s, niggaz boxin in prison Shit bang hard like a conjugal visit And the game aint big enough for niggaz so move over Matter fact, move out, we takin over Them boys is comin, and they aimin straight for the neck The B-L-A, C-K, S-O-X [Bluechip] Yo, yo, well its the B dot L dot, you know the rest Wanted by the feds, hated by the ATF You can catch me at the DuPont Inn, two dykes swallowin gin Shorty sucked me out of my Timbs My bad, thats your wife? Fuck your life Anyway I heard you workin for vice You aint real man you hide behind ice Youse a impostor, snatch him off the roster Always live by the rule, get dough, or die tryin Hardcoded into shinin Pass the bucket now Im back on bet it If, beef was erased man my tool gon finish Never been the loudmouth type Sugar Shane of this rap shit, southpaw when the mac spit Listen rookie, dont make me mad boy Or you gon be like Big, a dead (Bad Boy) [Chorus] [The Game] Huh, niggaz think they got the game sewed, yeah right Im air tight, fresh in them Air Nikes If the Navi outside, I might be there Black hoodie, black 9, black wifey airs Rock guns like Caddy trunks, keep a spare You see the lump under the Iceberg fleece and gear And when the beef cook, Ima put the piece to your head And if you see a white truck that mean yo sheets is dead Then Im goin goin, back back to the block to dump the bucket and jump in the drop Niggaz know Im good with the glock, they call me Chick Hearns Cause if the game on knot, Im callin the shots Ill wear a shiny suit for a minute like Im The LOX Then get gangster with a swap meet bag and a Jordan box And when I die, bury me with the glock, and a bucket of shells In case niggaz want drama in hell [Chorus]