The Game - Buddens lyrics

[Intro: Game] We got a problem Houston, Not Marques Houston or his little rapping side kick We got a real mutha f**in' problem And its only gonna be one of these songs After that I'mma knock your mutha f**in' a** out [Verse 1:Game] b**h n***as get put in the coffin With all that psychopath talking You listening to the Source and I ain't from Boston I'm gang banging, wear G-6's Call em' how I see em', these n***as is b**hes And Clue put this n***a on a song and now its G-Unit And I came to get it on You ain't hot, n***a you lukewarm Ill hog tie your a** with G-Unit shoes on You had pump it up that was a Koo song You only sold 10 records n***a now move on Talking about you got ratchets and tools on When you was at the all-star game with no j**els on I can't believe I gave you dap With the .45 on me I should of gave you that Pistol whipped you laid you flat Jump off buddens nah, disgrace to a Yankee hat And its time to state my biz Only n***a pushing rocket jersey is Jason Kidd You a phony n***a I'll erase your wig Have you running to the church like Mason did [Hook:] Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens Buddens,Buddens, Buddens, Buddens Buddens,Buddens, Buddens, Buddens [Verse 2: Game] You don't know me fool To diss me on Dj Clue I don't need no a**istance to dig you a ditch And any problem I got I just put my clip in You fake like Janet's titty One call 300 Bloods in Atlantic city You bad boy then dance like Diddy I give celebrity beat downs I bring the camera with me On that mixtape sh** you knew my man was 50 And I keep something chrome in them tanish dickeys Smoke n***as like a gram of sticky And I know my way to Harlem ill take you to bransons with me Come to Compton you'll vanish quickly I got n***as in the hood that'll k** you for a can of Mickey's Gangs of L.A. we never die And we'll let hollow tips fly at Joe [Hook:] [Verse 3: Game] I drive through the desert storm kick up dust Red and blue rags hanging out of pick up trucks Get Banks on the phone, n***a hit Young Buck Tell em' we got a problem with this dumb f** You was just in the city of angels In the W lobby in the presence of gangsters I'm the n***a that'll beat you with the stainless And leave you alive so you can run and tell stain b**h, I got n***as in Jersey that'll hang you I'm a Los angeles King with New York rangers And you lucky Yayo got that beeper on his ankle Joe Budden is a true definition of a wa*kster [Hook] [Outro: Game] This n***a try to act like he ain't know what the f** he was doing You knew what you was doing n***a, stop lying to the f**in' people n***a Gone jump on a freestyle n***a on that fly sh**, try to diss G-Unit n***a And im on the f**in' first verse, you ain't slick n***a I caught that sh** like a mutha f**in' greg maddox fast ball n***a 50 get Dre on the phone, see if that n***a remember what Joe Buddens second single was Cause I don't. I took a survey in the hood n***a Went to the projects asked b**hes if they feeling your sh** They was like no Haha, I went to the hood asked n***as if they was feeling your sh** They was like no Than I went to Jersey, caught me a f**in flight man took my last 500 dollars man Flew to Jersey, asked n***as in Jersey if they like your sh** They was like no, so I said f** it Ima take this n***a mutha f**in head off Blackwall Street, Aftermath, G-G-G-G-unit You know what it is n***a and you know where to find me