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[Chorus x2] A little bit of game is all it takes A little bit of game goes a long long way [Verse 1] Cuddie I dont sleep much, 'cause when I close my eyes I hear cries from my potna's who lost they lives Visions of bloody brutality's reality Gotta stay focused and hope it dont affect my salary Them calories, they keep my pockets fat, I got to stack a grip Try not to trip, and keep them gold diggers off my dick I'm gettin' sick 'cause I drink 24-7 The way I'm livin' now, if I die, theres no heaven Gotta help my potnas in the pen 'cause they livin' broke This aint no joke, on parole and I cant smoke No sticky indo, roll down the window 'Cause if I breathe(?) the task is back ??? like Nintendo Gotta play the game like a professional If you aint having money I got to let you go I need to let you know the rules before you ??? Rule number one potna, never should you pimpatrate I spit this pimpin' straight and cut no addatives Just nouns and adjectives, how mad you get dont mattter bitch I'm a player so I serve the game Maintain campaign, and have thangs Letras de canciones[Chorus x2] [Verse 2] Back in '92 I was drowned in them big cases But now its '97 and I'm counting them big faces I switched places with them sardines and squares The ??? fillet mignon, and garlic bread A hard head, big heart, and gorilla nuts Got me mobbin' thru the bay like I dont give a fuck I'm whipped, equipped, and stay dipped in butter sauce Pill if shes real, no scrill I cut her off 'Cause fine ass bitches with the empty bank book Is worse than them ugly muthafuckas who cant cook My game cooked for five years in the feds Now its time for these game hungry niggas to get fed I get bread, so them suckas down me Smile in my face but clown me when they not around me Talk down on my every move, but I couldnt give a damn Playas do what they want, and suckas do what they can [Chorus x2] [Verse 3] 7-5-70, my DOB, uhh And I've been breakin' hoes since '83, what? Money makers manual, handle my business discretly Dont give my home phone number out, beep me 'Cause aint no tellin' who be tellin', or who they tell And plus I heard that they be sellin' kinfolk the yayo Boy get your mail, dont act like your lil sista If you lackin' in this mackin' boy I bet you fist her Get some get right as I come tight to this Doo Doo Dumb Track, that cat K-Lou, knew how to come With Mac Dre, that 3 C veteran More game than March Madness, and dope as exederin Hit big licks, wouldnt pull no small capers I'm a be a dog and stay up like wall paper Look at these break bitches like they stank Collect my bank and stay sharp as a shank [Chorus] From Letras Mania