[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 ain't a nigga in the game that could hold me down   I've been independent forever so they know me now   And I'm the cat they gotta find when they wanna get signed   You wanna get your paper right you gotta study my grind   I'm like Rush in "Krush Groove," a nigga that bust moves   right out, and tuck tools, bullets that bust dudes   Ain't no beef in the briefcase, just beef for Pete's 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 ain't gettin off they gram   You mad at my boys, cause we choppin 'em in   They make twenty then the Fig want 10   That's the rules that the Get Low, play by   The block boys stay high, California stock with K-5   It's the rules that the Get Low play by   Them block boys stay high, the California K-5      [Chorus: The Game]   Huh, it's the Blacksox doin a joint together   The whole world stoppin to listen, ol' breakers poplockin to this   And white boys headboppin in 6's, niggaz boxin in prison   Shit bang hard like a conjugal visit   And the game ain't 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 it's 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, that's your wife? Fuck your life   Anyway I heard you workin for vice   You ain't 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 I'm 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, don't make me mad boy   Or you gon' be like Big, a dead (Bad Boy)      [Chorus: The Game]   Huh, it's the Blacksox doin a joint together   The whole world stoppin to listen, ol' breakers poplockin to this   And white boys headboppin in 6's, niggaz boxin in prison   Shit bang hard like a conjugal visit   And the game ain't 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      [The Game]   Huh, niggaz think they got the game sewed, yeah right   I'm 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, I'ma put the piece to your head   And if you see a white truck that mean yo' sheets is dead   Then I'm goin goin, back back   to the block to dump the bucket and jump in the drop   Niggaz know I'm good with the glock, they call me Chick Hearns   Cause if the game on knot, I'm callin the shots   I'll wear a shiny suit for a minute like I'm 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: The Game]   Huh, it's the Blacksox doin a joint together   The whole world stoppin to listen, ol' breakers poplockin to this   And white boys headboppin in 6's, niggaz boxin in prison   Shit bang hard like a conjugal visit   And the game ain't 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