About This Game - Swifty McVay

Just be careful what you asking for before you pray

You have no clue what you be headin' for;

this ain’t a game

All my life, not knowing which way to go

But I became the man I am

From learning what I know about this game

Game done changed

I don’t bang like I used to

Shots ring, slugs go through you like Metamucil

You’re just a poodle in the ring with a dragon

I spit fire;

sipping kerosene

And laughing at these Dr. Seuss rappers

They’re making me miserable

With horrible punchlines

And can’t-connect syllables

I was a little man

Rippin' up niggas in elementary

While others was playin'

I was staring in them notebooks, praying

And putting in order

Taping videos on VHS recorders

They couldn’t ignore us

I’m getting this regardless

Bogarting, I weigh in like a Spartan

Lyrical marksman

Heart made of steel

Quick to blow up like Howie Mandel

«What a deal,» or no deal…

It didn’t matter, I still was gonna rise

To the top of this buildin'

That’s for real!

Ha!

Tape recorders to reel the reels

And that was great

I graduated from 8-Dash to D-88's

Now we in the age of the Pro Tool phase

And everybody & their mama think they got game

They hang with niggas

They can’t tell 'em they ain’t dope

They’re scared they gon' hurt their feelings, and in the same note

Let 'em do a show- step on stage

And when the little niggas froze

All you’d see is tomatoes (Ha!)

Imma make sure that they know

This ain’t a game, yo!

Water your passion, let it grow, then flamethrow

When kids was outside, I decided to stay home

Writing to get tighter

Sold dope at night

And then I counted my bankroll

But never did get rich

I ate lobster and shrimp, and copped me some new kicks

But as far as this music, it ruled everything

Like C.R.E.A.M did Wu-Tang

I learned some new things!

(What!)

I paid my dues twice, and I ain’t lying

That’s one in the hood and the other after I signed

Now I’m fine and steadily flyin'

Jets that hold 12 passengers at a time

I’ve traveled this whole world, but fuck Vietnam

If I wanted to get bombed

I’d go back home…

The neighborhood change when a nigga get on

They looking at you strange when you don’t give 'em something

But soon as you do, it becomes a habit

Then they askin' you every day

You don’t know these bastards (What!)

These hood rats throwin' you pussy like Mike Jackson

If you hadn’t signed, none of this shit would’ve happened

Niggas running up to you

Rapping like «Sign me!»

Grimey niggas trying to come onto your dime piece

They out they mind!

They keep bugging you;

it’s stress and

Instead of learning lessons, they’re painting perceptions

They’re always commanding, never understanding

I’m hearing rumors how they wanna hold me ransom

The hood check you and try to see if you’re still real

And take you in an after-hours, just like Proof (Shit!)

They’ll set you up, tryin' to murk you in a place

They lie on you when police won’t solve the case

This is what you chased your whole life to do

In the city where nobody gives a fuck about you!

And it’s true!