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    The Game / Lyrics

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    "Ali Bomaye" Lyrics

    The Game feat. 2 Chainz and Rick Ross

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    [Intro: Game]
    Get my people out them chains nigga
    I mean handcuffs, time to man up
    Put my hands up? Fuck you sayin' bruh
    Cause I'm a black man, in a Phantom
    Or is it cause my windows tinted
    Car cost 300 thou' and I blow Indo in it
    You mad cause your daughter fuck with me on spring break
    Well, I'mma fuck her 'til the springs break

    [Verse 1: 2 Chainz]
    Yeah Roll another one cause I'm winnin
    In my four door looking real photogenic
    Gentleman attire, in threads that won't expire
    I'm in a class of my own, my teacher got fired
    Money getting long, pussy rate keep rising
    Versace outfit cost me 3,000
    From the P houses, did it from the weak hours
    Selling that chicken no lemon pepper, no sweet and sour
    First you get the power, then you get respect
    I'm getting so much money I can buy ya bitch
    Take it how you wanna, if you wanna take it
    I like clubs where all the women working naked
    Fell in love with a waitress what the fuck I'm thinking
    Bought that ho a ring it was for her pinky
    Uhn, that's pimpin' that's slick
    Got a bottle of cologne that cost more than your rent

    [Verse 2: Game]
    Fuck y'all mad at me for
    Got a black card, and a black phantom
    With a white bitch in Idaho, I do the same thing in (Montana)
    Got a thick bitch in Atlanta, got a redbone in the Chi
    Got two chains, they two-tone, two hundred racks, no lie (true)
    Ali Bomaye! Ali Bomaye!
    I'm bout to rumble in the jungle in these new Kanye's
    Ali Bomaye! Ali Bomaye!
    My lawyer threw them gloves on and beat another case
    Fuck y'all mad at me for, cause my belt got two G's on it
    Her bag got two C's on it, my daughter's stroller got D's on it
    Free Big Meech, Free Boosie and C-Murder
    Like New Orleans, like Baltimore, come to Compton you'll see murders
    And my AR see murders, that's beef nigga no burgers
    I'm insane and you Usain, nigga better turn on them burners
    Got coke swimming in that glass jar, bitch go turn on them burners
    Got dope to sell in this hotel, no half price, no retail
    You a bitch nigga, no female, I smack niggas, Sprewell
    I'm on the block like D 12, I got the white, no D-12
    Like a little nigga in Africa, I was born toting that K
    And that's real shit, no Will Smith, and no Nona Gaye
    But they yellin'...

    [Hook: Game]
    Ali Bomaye! Ali Bomaye!
    Thank God that a nigga seen another day
    Ali Bomaye! Ali Bomaye!
    Got a chopper and a bottle fuck it let 'em spray

    [Verse 3: Rick Ross]
    I take my case to trial, hire the Dream Team
    Robbie Kardashian, Johnnie Cochran, I seen things
    I dream big, I think sharp
    Inhale smoke, Hawaiian tree bark
    Humble yourself, you not a G, keep it one with yourself
    Run to niggas for help, favors I keep one on the shelf
    I got rifles with lasers, swing it just like the majors
    Hit you right above navel, now you swimming in pavement
    Gold medals on my neck, I call it Michael Phelps
    Hoes settling for less, I call 'em bottom shelf
    Niggas tough on them blogs and never did nothing at all
    On the road to the riches, bitches not tagging along

    [Verse 4: Game]
    Unless it's ass in a thong, hit that ass and I'm gone
    Disrespect my nigga Boss and I'm flashing the chrome
    I'm waving the Tec, Tity spraying the Mac
    Extendos in the back, gonna lap
    Got a bitch that look like Laila Ali sitting in my lap
    Got a call from Skateboard, pick 'em up at Lax
    Speaking skateboards, where Tune at?
    Fuck with him, I'll break a skateboard on a nigga back
    2 Chainz!

    [Verse 5: 2 Chainz]
    Skateboard on a nigga track
    No lie, No Lie already got a plaque
    Mama got a house, daughter got accounts
    Just to think a nigga like me started with a ounce
    Bad bitches and D-boys, we bring 'em out
    If them niggas pussy, we douche 'em, we clean 'em out
    This the voice of ghetto intelligence, if you got work
    Go to work, don't work at your residence

    [Verse 6: Game]
    ...For presidents
    Word to Muhammad, that triple beam is heaven-sent
    Riding through the jungles in that muthafuckin' elephant
    That's a gray ghost, with the ears on it
    Swimming through the hood like it got fins on it (Tell 'em!)
    You know I got that work on the foreman grill
    Weigh the muthafuckas in, made another mill'
    Got a nigga feeling like Cassius Clay
    Thrilla in Manilla, nigga want it whip his ass today

    This song was submitted on December 11th, 2012 and last modified on December 23rd, 2012.
    Copyright with Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/atv Music Publishing Llc, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd..
    Written by Florence Leontine Mary Welch, Maurice Jordan, Paul Richard Epworth, Tauheed Epps, Byron Keith Forest II, William Leonard Roberts, Jayceon Terrell Taylor.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

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