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Mr. West/money & The Power
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Game
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1
[Verse 1]
2
Today Jimmy Hendrix is motivation
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I guess it’s time for me to put them 808?s in
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Middle finger to them faggot niggaz hating
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And Sak Pase to all my fucking Haitians
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Give me a pimp cup to pour my Rose in
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I’m in the same car that Ricky Rozay in
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Tell Satan that it’s a celebration
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So get your hands up, nigga get your hands up
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Now, which one of us is really Mr. West?
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Probably the one of us that really needs to wear his vest
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And I’m just shooting my niggaz some subliminals
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‘Cuz he got all the bitches and I be with the criminals
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Beat sound like some crazy shit that Tim would do
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Now when you see me, I’m the brown Eminem to you
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Show you what I’m finna do, but you don’t know it’s me though
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Magic when I shoot, get to boxing like Hedo
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Turkoglu, niggaz, get to murking you niggaz
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Hit your block in the Caprice and just circle you niggaz
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Know what I mean? Think you pheens how I’m serving you niggaz
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Know what I mean? Think I’m beans how I’m serving you niggaz
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And it ain’t rice and beans when I’m serving you niggaz
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Punk you in front of your crew, Steve Urkel you niggaz
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Putting bull shit out, I hope it works for you niggaz
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And when it don’t, come and see me, I got that work for you niggaz
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[Chorus X2]
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Like uh (Mr. West, Mr. West!)
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Uh (Mr. West, Mr. West!)
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Uh (Mr. West, Mr. West!)
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Now, which one of us is really Mr. West?
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[Verse 2]
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He had a Rolls, I had a Rolls too
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Eat your money up, you know how them hoes do
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Burn rubber, swear to God they gon’ love ya
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Like rookie cops, can’t wait to be undercovers
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I’m 6’5?, nigga basketball size
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You act like I can’t fuck one of them basketball wives
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I be a basketball Game, with my basketball dame
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Feeling like, Hov, call back, I’m watching basketball dang
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Damn, but I ain’t talking ’bout dames
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I ain’t talking bout Hov, I’m just talking bout Game
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Ask Ray Allen, they boy got game
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Jesus Shuttlesworth, yeah the boy got range-s
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In the parking lot, niggaz talk a lot
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They way they gossiping hip-hop should be a barber shop
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Getting cash money baby, why you tryna baller block?
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Mad chick, her’s, man somebody gotta call the shots
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[Chorus]
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[Bridge]
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I guess it’s me y’all, the highest on the see saw
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Get so much money, why the fuck would I wann be y’all?
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Shit, I be everywhere, but I don’t ever see y’all
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So for the next 12 songs, I’mma fucking R.I.P. y’all
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[Verse 3]
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Sometimes I hear anger talking, asking how I’m feeling
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I’m just happy to be alive, Lord willing
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Four albums later, two more children
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Feeling like ‘Ye, “Mr. West is in the building”
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What happened to the competition? Nigga I killed ’em
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Can’t drink Crystal, the nigga Hov chilled ’em
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I’m on this patent rhyme like I know them niggaz
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Them haters say I fell off? I’m ’bout to show them niggaz
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Drake and J. Cole them niggaz
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I sold nine mill, made nine mill, and kept it hood nigga
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Just like Drake told a nigga
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I made it rain in hundreds like I was Big Meech
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I made it rain in hundreds when I was with Meech
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Went from a Cutlass with the old front end
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To a, um, Benz, stop light jumping
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Now I’mma take you back to where I got jumped in
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West side Compton, just east of the one ten
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[Chorus 2]
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I just roll weed on your last album
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And after that I’m ’bout to fuck your girl for ’bout an hour
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Look around the club, uh, all I see is cowards
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Mad ‘cuz I got respect, the money, and the power
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I just roll weed on your last album
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And after that I’m ’bout to fuck your girl for ’bout an hour
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Look around the club and all I see is cowards
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Mad ‘cuz I got respect, the money, and all the power
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[Verse 4]
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“No one man should have..” ‘Ye said that
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“Can’t knock the:” Naw, Jay said that
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“You can thank me:” Naw, Drake said that
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“Mind playing tricks on me” Scarface said that
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But I’m about to roll this paper plane
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Hit the barber shop, get cut before this Laker game
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Niggaz hate The Game, sometimes I hate the fame
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They hate my bitch, they hate my chain
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I’m so hood, I might fly to New York and just take the train
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On some John Travolta shit, just take the train
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So if you in New York at two o’clock, don’t take the train
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I make niggaz dissapear, no David Blaine
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I split your whole team up, no Jay and Dame
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Fresher than Will Smith was before Jada came
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Four albums, twelve cars, but the flow stay the same
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Every nigga I dap turn blood, it’s like I’m made of flames
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Dipping this red flag, like the one I gave to Wayne
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[Chorus 2]
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[Verse 5]
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Go Dwight Howard, now watch them hoes run
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Soon as the Game over, they back stripping for ones
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Had your bitch all in my crib, stripping for fun
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Getting head, thinking ’bout cars when I strip ’em for fun
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Walk in my closet, throw on my J’s, pick up my gun
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Spin the block with some some shit that spit quicker than Pun
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I respect two East Coast niggaz, Biggie was one
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If he was living, he’d say that no one is sicker then son, uh
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Young gun, bar none, the tightest where I’m from
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Roll some much kush, got the leaves sticking to my thumb
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As I break it down , bring that six tray around
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Banging Nas album, yeah, you can hate me now
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Treat beef like haircuts, gotta fade it down
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Ran out bars, guess I name-drop Slim and Baby
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How can niggaz hate on me? ‘cuz I get Cash Money
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Six bricks in the Aston Martin, that’s fast money
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[Chorus 2]
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