**enters room**
Sit down and peep game, and see Game
Sing the same songs that the ogs sang
Gimme the loot bitch drop ya purse and ya neckless
Im suggesting, that you shut up and have my dick for breakfast
Im reckless, the questions pile up by the millions
The children walk into the abyss and lack feeling
About anything other than whats going on right now
And thats Mike Game hitting licks on kids like Im Mysonne
My songs, get called wack garbage and trash
But if Im so bad why do you fags acknowledge the fact
That I even exist, thats right you wish you were this
Foul mouthed closed minded muthafucka from the other
Side of the mind back in a time when I used to love H.E.R.
But now I just smother my lover in Southern Comfort
And rush her out the door so that my new bitch can jump her
Fuck her, fuck this rap shit, fuck ya homies and your mother
Im going off on a tangent, when my plans get
So twisted and diluted, who would even try to understand it
The damage, to my ego is like the shot that killed the Death Star
Eating cold chef boy-r, pondering on who the best are
Not yal, not anyone that you believe it is
Cuz seeing is believing and I still havent seen this shit
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