The Game - Dedicated Lyrics






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The Game Lyrics

Dedicated Lyrics

[Chorus:]
Dedicated to all my niggas up North
Dedicated to the dirty South of course
Dedicated to all my niggas on the East
Dedicated to West Coast niggas is beasts...
This from us to you and all of them
Don't get gas my nigga watch your rims

I started off in a hood, in what you would call a lemon...
Me? I was a nerd, niggas thought it was a gimmick.
Now I got the maybach, curtains in linen...
White maranella with the burgundy in it.
Tinted?
For real.
Now watch how we spin it.
River side drive in about 5 minutes
4 5 2...
Achoo...
Make a nigga sneeze when we ride by you.
Ice cream jeans with a march yellow top...
Polo 7-5-8s with socks.
Am I high?
Fa sho
How we count dough?
We count commas...
Ya'll niggas count 0's
Come to VIP nigga we can count hos...
Don't forget the candy pan sittin on vouges.
Plus I got banana clips under my clothes...
This is redicated to niggas that flips O's.

[Chorus]

Ayo come to Garcon...
Y saunt lauran
You ever seen the hard bottoms on a long vauze?
The bullets make a nigga hit the bottom real hard...
You ever seen the spikes on the new Lou Vuittons
Spike a bitch drink make a bitch go hard
Red Air Max with the fuckin Go-Karts
When you already did it, what the fuck is go hard?
Synchronize automotives, walk out with no charge.
With yo broad,
Oh lord, while your wife at somewhere typin
We on Rodeo somewhere swipin.
You do it like Nike, my shit Lightnin
Back to back Lambo, inside frightnin
This shit criminal we should be indicted...
Your chicks riding shotgun, had that as dikin
Like Paquiao fightin.
This shit is exciting

[Chorus]

Top down, bumpin Bar-Kays...
Hermes bucket with the Tom Ford Shades.
Four shades...
Four seasons...
Six-Fours...
More reasons...
More money...
Whore season.
Are you listenin mah?
Your cheesin.
We at the Staples on the floor, whole season...
It's the pink slip club, nigga no leasin.
Ya ex-boyfriend, Policin...
Brush em off like my moncler fleece son
You know I'm gang affiliated, don't get naughty.
We could call henchmen...
Or we could call shorty.
Or we could call Hector...
Or we could call Jorge.
Papi owe me favors...
I know he won't ignore me.
Everybody loco niggas gotta show me...
Tell ya girl there's a fire in my pants...
Blow me.

[Chorus]

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Notice: All lyrics are the sole property of the indicated authors. Many lyrics have been transcribed by ear and may contain inaccuracies.