The Game - Mr. West/ Money and The Power lyrics

rate me

Today Jimmy Hendrix is motivation

I guess it's time for me to put them 808?s in

Middle finger to them faggot niggas hating

And Sak Pase to all my fucking Haitians

Give me a pimp cup to pour my Rose in

I'm in the same car that Ricky Rozay in

Tell Satan that it's a celebration

So get your hands up, nigga get your hands up

Now, which one of us is really Mr. West?

Probably the one of us that really needs to wear his vest

And I'm just shooting my niggas some subliminals

'Cuz he got all the bitches and I be with the criminals

Beat sound like some crazy shit that Tim would do

Now when you see me, I'm the brown Eminem to you

Show you what I'm finna do, but you don't know it's me though

Magic when I shoot, get to boxing like Hedo

Turkoglu, niggas, get to murking you niggas

Hit your block in the Caprice and just circle you niggas

Know what I mean? Think you pheens how I'm serving you niggas

Know what I mean? Think I'm beans how I'm serving you niggas

And it ain't rice and beans when I'm serving you niggas

Punk you in front of your crew, Steve Urkel you niggas

Putting bull shit out, I hope it works for you niggas

And when it don't, come and see me, I got that work for you niggas

Like uh (Mr. West, Mr. West!)

Uh (Mr. West, Mr. West!)

Uh (Mr. West, Mr. West!)

Now, which one of us is really Mr. West?

He had a Rolls, I had a Rolls too

Eat your money up, you know how them hoes do

Burn rubber, swear to God they gon' love ya

Like rookie cops, can't wait to be undercovers

I'm 6'5?, nigga basketball size

You act like I can't fuck one of them basketball wives

I be a basketball Game, with my basketball dame

Feeling like, Hov, call back, I'm watching basketball dang

Damn, but I ain't talking 'bout dames

I ain't talking bout Hov, I'm just talking bout Game

Ask Ray Allen, they boy got game

Jesus Shuttlesworth, yeah the boy got range-s

In the parking lot, niggas talk a lot

They way they gossiping hip-hop should be a barber shop

Getting cash money baby, why you tryna baller block?

Mad chick, her's, man somebody gotta call the shots

I guess it's me y'all, the highest on the see saw

Get so much money, why the fuck would I wann be y'all?

Shit, I be everywhere, but I don't ever see y'all

So for the next 12 songs, I'mma fucking R.I.P. y'all

Sometimes I hear anger talking, asking how I'm feeling

I'm just happy to be alive, Lord willing

Four albums later, two more children

Feeling like 'Ye, "Mr. West is in the building"

What happened to the competition? Nigga I killed 'em

Can't drink Crystal, the nigga Hov chilled 'em

I'm on this patent rhyme like I know them niggas

Them haters say I fell off? I'm 'bout to show them niggas

Drake and J. Cole them niggas

I sold nine mill, made nine mill, and kept it hood nigga

Just like Drake told a nigga

I made it rain in hundreds like I was Big Meech

I made it rain in hundreds when I was with Meech

Went from a Cutlass with the old front end

To a, um, Benz, stop light jumping

Now I'mma take you back to where I got jumped in

West side Compton, just east of the one ten

I just roll weed on your last album

And after that I'm 'bout to fuck your girl for 'bout an hour

Look around the club, uh, all I see is cowards

Mad 'cuz I got respect, the money, and the power

I just roll weed on your last album

And after that I'm 'bout to fuck your girl for 'bout an hour

Look around the club and all I see is cowards

Mad 'cuz I got respect, the money, and all the power

"No one man should have.." 'Ye said that

"Can't knock the:" Naw, Jay said that

"You can thank me:" Naw, Drake said that

"Mind playing tricks on me" Scarface said that

But I'm about to roll this paper plane

Hit the barber shop, get cut before this Laker game

Niggas hate The Game, sometimes I hate the fame

They hate my bitch, they hate my chain

I'm so hood, I might fly to New York and just take the train

On some John Travolta shit, just take the train

So if you in New York at two o'clock, don't take the train

I make niggas dissapear, no David Blaine

I split your whole team up, no Jay and Dame

Fresher than Will Smith was before Jada came

Four albums, twelve cars, but the flow stay the same

Every nigga I dap turn blood, it's like I'm made of flames

Dipping this red flag, like the one I gave to Wayne

Go Dwight Howard, now watch them hoes run

Soon as the Game over, they back stripping for ones

Had your bitch all in my crib, stripping for fun

Getting head, thinking 'bout cars when I strip 'em for fun

Walk in my closet, throw on my J's, pick up my gun

Spin the block with some some shit that spit quicker than Pun

I respect two East Coast niggas, Biggie was one

If he was living, he'd say that no one is sicker then son, uh

Young gun, bar none, the tightest where I'm from

Roll some much kush, got the leaves sticking to my thumb

As I break it down , bring that six tray around

Banging Nas album, yeah, you can hate me now

Treat beef like haircuts, gotta fade it down

Ran out bars, guess I name-drop Slim and Baby

How can niggas hate on me? 'cuz I get Cash Money

Six bricks in the Aston Martin, that's fast money