Illz Ov Da Game E

It's the ills of the game. Ain't no shame. For money and fame. Make a G change his ways. Gotta Find a way to eat. Ain't no thing Gonna stop us 'Til the day We reach the grave. The ills of the game. Chasing cash and fame. Gotta deal with fake promoters. Nerds and lames. Can't feed your family off the Real bars no more. They want microwave rap. They put their garbage in store. And we not buying it, what y'all passing off. They wanna publish it For a little cash and Whores. We blasting off. Fuck what y'all asking for. The math is wrong. No more advanced all. Unless we advance the boardwalk. Lock the strip. We want condos and homes. Keep your cars and kicks. Now we cop Park Place while you chase the Charts. Got a Beamer. With the shoes, no place to park. What part of the game is that? It's the ills for real. We mobster ill. We make a role monster deals. You gots to chill. The closures CMD. It's business never personal. 'Til the E-N-D. It's the ills of the game. Uh-huh, ain't no shame. For money and fame. Make G change his ways. Gotta find a way to eat. Ain't no thing Gonna stop us 'Til the day We reach the grave. It's the ills of the game. Uh-huh, ain't no shame. For money and fame. Make a G change his ways. Gotta find a way to eat. Ain't no thing Gonna stop us 'Til the day We reach the grave. It's the ills of the game. Finna snatch a chain. Personal gain. The only way to remain sane. We highly acclaimed. Google the name. The closers. We the future. Ain't no other the same. See we lay propane, y'all gay like Ching-a-Lang. Ching-a-Lang. Riding on dudes ding-a-ling. We closing the show. Ending the game. Fuck your name. Put a stop to the wackness, Simple and plain. Cripple your frame. Sickle cell. Sick with the cane. Ready for demolition. Stick to your lane. The exodus. Veterans piss excellence. The bottom line. We the best there is. The best there is. Verses a flying guillotine. Split your wig. Put an apple in your mouth. Like a roasted pig. Our thirst is big. Like a big G. O Swallow My kids. We got bars like a 10-year bid. They can't live. Yeah. Closing the Game. Faggot-ass niggas. Bitch-ass promoters. Fake-ass A&Rs. We getting our broad jokes On. Know what I'm saying? Feeling this shit, grab your dick, squeeze your Tits. Turn this shit up to motherfucking 10. You know what I mean? In your motherfucking Benz. In your Range. Even if you fucking driving a Gremlin, You bitch-ass nigga. You know what I mean? Push the Gremlin until The fucking wheels fall off. Maneuver. You know what I mean? The closers. We worldwide with this. You know what I mean? Word up. Boompin Sessions, Biatch.