Song Lyrics

I'm the greatest rapper in the world, you who tryin' to kid, man?
I will slam dunk on your big man.
Been rappin' for years, crackin' them bears, the sound of platinum chairs.
Predict future cash and it's near, my speech is dittly.
I bust shots until the heat gets heavy.
F*ck bitches until the sheets get sweaty.
Beats and melodies, will make me blink.
I'll pull my shank out, and give a warrior's cry.
If you ain't down wit' my crew, all you die.
You can tell I'm real, by lookin' in the ball of my eye.
I will get some cream from it, one day, your baby, and my baby.
Can my some dough on Teem Summit.
Countin' the loot, fountain the youth, the young God.
Here's the inside thug, like a Marmashad.
Some want to have emotions and kill me.
Put the toast to my kidney, when I speak most of them feel me.
So, keep my name off ya breath.
'Fore my nigga, Gruff, take the chain off ya chest.
All guaranteeing, blaow, take the brain off ya neck.
Off the top of the dough, one shot and you'll blow.
Fuckin' wit' Panama P.I., guarantee I'll take ya outta ya zone.

Aiyo me and my nigga, Hais, ride, lay loose.
'Case ya try to play Zeus, got the tray deuce.
Hidin' right inside the bubble, face goose.
Not too quickly to make... to make news.
I'm a ace deuce, caught cases, I got Gotti and O.J. juice.
And my crew, you're very stackless, very cock now.
Phase of every Rocky, turn your caviar ass into, um,
Chicken teriyaki, Spanish nigga try to front on me.
I say papi, Rocky, wish he would of shot me.
'Cause I don't care if he frail or cock D.
When I got the glock, B can't stop me.
And no judicial system could affix me, try to lock me.
Over papes on mine, Mr. D.A., someone to lace ya dime.
And tell P.H. that the camera job, come on, that's a waste of mine.
'Cause I got my girl Curry, live in D.C.,
Work the spring court, you know for me, that just scary.
How Harlem nigga do, get in the building, bitch, hurry,
Before my girl see, back to top, so she can give me one on jury.
Says hung, got her sprung, she felt that I'm young.
Her little toy boy, make her lick my ass wit a tongue.
She's so smart, she's dumb, but I keep; tomorrow ain't promised.
Now I might need a one way flight to St. Thomas,
And at the same time I got a JAG fetish,
And who knows, I might have bad credit.
I can't borrow from niggas I ass betted.
Go to your girl, I pop my truck faster.
Don't make me Flex on you, ghetto style, like Funkmaster.

[Chorus]
You got money, what it look like?
You got crack, what it cook like?
You got a song, what the hook like?
Word is bond, when P.I. hit the microphone, niggas took mics.
You got crack, what it cook like?
You got a song, what the hook like?
You got some money, what it look like?
What part of the game is that?
You f*ck around wit' my track, blaow, part of the flaming stat.

I live the God knowledge, my book of life, he read like twice.
Five percent shine, today the grease like, my attribute's like.
Paretic chrome, I thrown, throw it at your dome, blown.
It be known, like Sa Salasi clone, connect wit' one zone.
Cybernetic, verbal buck slang, king ebonic.
Nickname: Farad, all of ya dude, rock me Muhammad.
I came swift, wit' off as the shit, they couldn't catch it.
Define this, got drawn so swift, couldn't detect it.
Thug covert, sip Scotch drink, just like an Irish.
Move like the infamous, full blown, antivirus.
Apollus, mad Olympic, fragile fitness.
Supreme gymnast, ancient decent, homey scriptures.
Equilibrium, catch me at the Wimbledon, thug gentlemen.
Guess jeans, Wu shirts, construction Timberland.
You're nobody wit' nothing, and your name shall be Nathan.
Who you facin? Slugs blazin' the amazin'.

Aiyo check it, I used to live reckless,
Snatch kids necklace, nigga, respect this.
A nigga catch this, blaow, trigga specialist.
Is your death wish, leave you rib and chestless.
Gun ho, real life thug, every one know.
From the Bumjo, to the kids, to Colombo.
My niggas locked down doin' state, did you rumble?
Twenty-five to L, on the humble, real thug shit.
Plug shit, catch you, wouldn't dare f*ck wit'.
Care rugged, from the skulls down to the Timb's.
Surroundin' your Benz, wit' niggas houndin' your gems.
Yo, pump this jam in your joint.
All my thug niggas cruisin' wit' the mamas on points.
City wise guys, gritty high guys, pretty mamas.
I even make boricua, shake the titty tatas.
Harlem World slugger, watch it explode like Pearl Harbor.
Screw ma, get a girl's Vodka,
And get them hotter, slide 'em off, twist 'em proper.
Yo, I'm a sex fiend, fuckin' in my four hundred Lex' ring.
Flex cream, presidential rolly wit' gets gleam.

[Chorus x 2]

Cameron Giles, Herbert ("mcgruff") Brown, Teddy Cubia, Born, Tony Dofat

The duration of What Part of the Game is 4:53 minutes and seconds.