Texty písní The Game Hoodmorning (No Typo): Candy Coronas Fucked Up

Fucked Up

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[Hook: Game]
These niggas got me fucked up [x4]
These niggas got me, I think
These niggas got me fucked up

[Verse 1: Game]
I be on the block with that chrome boy, Postin' up with my home boy
Leanin' on the 2 tone boy, What you want for them zones boy
10-5, 10-4, put it on the scale, add a little more
Take a shot of that 'tron boy, bag it up and then gone boy
They givin' [?] out, watch yourself on that phone boy
They gave me seven [?], mama singing that song boy
We gettin' money baby, we gettin' cash money
Stuntin' like im Birdman, sittin' on my cash
120 on the dash, 4 [?] on the wheeeeels
Paper stacking too long boy, blowing cheech and that chong boy
Better watch that tone boy, headshots to that dome boy

[Hook x2]

[Verse 2 - Menace:]
Think a nigga trip the way I walk around
Gotta keep that pistol on my hip to lay them haters down
Gotta keep them bitches on my dick then I bring [?] around
Paper stash gon' break em down, fuck 'em hard don't make a sound
I'm all about that trap boy, ride around with that pistol
Gotta keep the bitch in my lap boy, hater niggas, come get ya
Made my niggas [?], my niggas clean, we do it [?], try to intervene
Thats suicide fuckin' with my team, I'm blowing clouds and I'm 'bout the cream
Yeah, and I'm bout that shit, we full of chips, and I'm [?] hoes
Y'all full of shit, not suckin' the O's, I'm too legit and I'm tippin' 4's
Niggas really want it, bitches lookin' silly for it
Really kill the niggas for it, niggas lookin' real important

[Hook x2]

[Verse 3 - Game:]
Say boy, ever had a bitch all up in your crib
Stickin' that dick all up in the ribs
Then she tell fuck niggas where you live
And now they all up in your shit
Flippin' matresses over, turnin' couches sideways
They thinkin' crime pays
Got a choppa
For the niggas that don't understand how the fuck we ope-
-rate and anyway get back on top of my paper chase
Kush burnin', smell the dragon, 29's, been had 'em
Niggas take shots, then runnin' high
We'll find their ass, Bin Ladin
Me and Mike in the Benz wagon, better watch your block boy
Purple clouds of that Pepe Lepue, I'm gone of that Ciroc boy
Clipped up to that pop boy, holdin' on to that knot boy
Palms grippin' that Glock boy, we comin' back for them yachts boy

[Hook x2]
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