Bulletproof Diaries - The Game, Raekwon

Sit in the chair, yeah, yeah

Uh-huh, yeah

Sit my alligator jacket on the flo'

Let that shit crawl around, whattup Game?

How are you my nigga?

Let’s get this money, you heard?

Money in zipped duffle bags, shotgun shells

My killas gorillas, niggas couldn’t see 'em with gazelles

Fronting ass niggas, go hang with Pharrell

Trying to be a Cowboy, you catch bullets like Terrell

Owens, call it T.O., he leaking like a project sink

Busted open like a hot dog link

(Beef!) it gave me time to think, yeah I did my fucking prison thing

Came out still on point, like the RZA rings

I’m from Compton but my inkpen live in Queens

Rep the dub like Wu-Tang, and I got Killa Bees (respect)

Black Wall Mafia, new millenium Genovese

Got a million dollars say LeBron don’t win a ring (word?)

I know Kobe, I be on the floor, «Kobe!»

You know a nigga that can score 81?

Show me!

I got a Cuban Link to a fuckin O. G

And nigga you’re too close, what the fuck, you trying to blow me?

(back up)

This the face off (respect the don) diamonds all in the charm

(Iced out) Where you be?

(strip club, throwin ones)

Where you from?

(New York, where you from?) Californ'

(Big sharks) Me too (swimming in a pile of ones)

Yeah nigga, tomorrow man

Going to take you to go buy some 18-karat gold golf clubs nigga

In the Bronx

This the face off (respect the dons, hundred thousand on the arms)

Son where you be?

(Under palm trees staying warm)

(Who you be?) Raekwon, who is you?

(Amaz-on)

I’mma keep it (Compton) Staten ('til the day is done)

Geah, fronting on us nigga, it’s like

It’s like racing a nigga in Afghanistan to go get some oil nigga

You gon' fuck around and get your head burnt

I’m a New York dinosaur, Staten Island artifact

Hip-Hop's never dead, the Cuban gave 'em heart attacks

Sleep in the woods, target cats come from under the V’s

Sneeze wrong, course I’m clappin'

Keep it movin' homeboy, the mac’s always actin

Spit in your face, go 'head lil' baby rappers

Can’t fuck with us convicts, Stat-land

It’s like actions, cliques’ll die right with traction

It’s Wall Street money and two gunny’s

Slammers is extra chunky, yeah, me and my red monkeys

Silverback sales are few donkeys, all of us live comfy

Blow your head off like lunch meat

Chef and The Game run the country

Take over the world little girl, better stay out our brunch meetin'

Fuck with they paper they gun squeezin'

Off top, leak from the cop, then nigga jumped, this is front season

Yo, man yo Game man

Let these niggas know man f’real man

We official man

They wan' be reading our autobiographies in a minute, ya heard?

(Yo what if I was from Compton?) What if I was from Staten?

I’d be King Kong knocking down the buildings in Manhattan

(Guerrilla warfare) Shootouts, real block shit

West coast assassin on some real 2Pac shit

My style’s smoking like after a Glock spit

Game get the blood money, fuck bitches and pop Crys'

-tal like it’s New Year’s, cause this a new year

Look at the tracks, either Bigfoot or The Game been through here

The Benjamins won’t stop, and neither would a chrome Glock

I kill a fire-breathing dragon with a dome shot

Come through your hood in a Chevy Malibu, on stocks

We had a meeting before we got here, so shit gon' pop

Heads gon' roll, Patron gon' spill

Fitted caps getting peeled like the chrome on the wheels

Got a half a mil' say your wounds won’t heal

I declare war, nigga who gon' deal?

Yeah, y’all know what time it is man

«Bulletproof Diary» nigga, for real

Many may read this man

A lot of niggas might not make it home, you heard?

We speak for the real ones man, for the churchmen man

All them real general niggas man

All them niggas that’s out there man

Don’t get no rest or none of that man, for real

The Chef nigga, Game whattup baby?

I love you, ya heard?

Super mad love over here for you baby

You know how we do it, we go all over the fucking world man

Get a lot of bread man, word up, hunnid my nigga

We take you to Boca Chica or some’n man, knahmsayin?

Sip on some motherfuckin, Don Julio or some’n, y’knahmsayin?

With two foul rings on, y’knahmsayin?

Couple of mean Guatemalians wit us

Half Guatemala, half Somalian nigga

Niggas ain’t seen them colors man