Check Your Game Lyrics

Thanks to mart666@xxl.ee for these lyrics. Chorus: It's 99 players check your game Make sure them young boys respect your name Keep your heaters at close reach cocked and ready Cause the streets will catch you slipping, rock ya steady Watch your back with your homies that you feel is real Your homeboys from your crew, yeah them the ones that do you The s*ckas that got the player hater venom I wanna take 'em outside and lay some slugs up in em [King T] When they need work They call the cali drug expert Smashing in a six hundred dollar bill burnt Looking flossy living costly Off the edge, out of state They gots to break bread, for sho I needs mo' ice drops for the lexo Briggetts sets blow when I'm sipping the mo' Freelancing, trying to build a mansion And stay faded Have hoes walk around my crib butt naked... [Ice-T] True, pop the remy kick back and let the players represent High floss true boss game and take aim These s*cka wannabe's Nigga please - you're green I'll bend hoes on the downlow - banks obscene Wanna chill with these niggas, bet you wish you could And s*ck game out my a*s like sponges I run this You can't f**k with the steelo You niggas wanna be low When I'm on the east I play ceelo One track mind serial hustler Cash flow I'll dust ya Quick to break a buster ya snitch bitch? No hustler faster Bentley ballin' bastard Game maker I knock a white bitch and break her [King T] But Ice, Chronic got me bruising my brain But soothing my pain, I'm true to the game I got my mind made I gotta be that rich motherf**ker Set it up so my grandkids don't suffer The phat hummer Trying to find a sister with a voice The phat drummer - what's your choice? Make her moist I'm throwing up the W Bringing trouble to Those in sight King T and Big Ice Chorus: [Ice-T] But T that's trippin' and that ain't my sport I'd rather lamp in my crib and flip the Robb report And set my v-dozen on the streets Cause when I'm twisting my dubs Bump my beats Can't nobody compete Imagine this: A hundred G 'lex on your wrist Imagine this: About ten karrots on your fist Imagine this: All dime hoes on your list Ha - that shit would be nice But your name ain't "Ice" - kid... I'll screw the silencer on - rock you softly How you gonna step to me kid? You grew up off me TV, Movies, and Records and Tours So many busters wearing Versace I don't wear it no more... [King T] But this will be a cla*sic Many facets to get that a*s kicked The alchoholic Don, call me King Tragic Watch me speak the magic Watch me teach that old habit - full of havoc People pay Just to have me stay And Ice'll tweak the mix when it statics And say a verse I'll freak a couple words unrehearsed Then I burst I mean I bust From all angles Guarunteed platium on your single [Ice-T] Yo T, I really must admit I'm blessed Never wear no vests because I got mad love Master V does some other shit TV's in the head rests I catch respect when other niggas catch slugs 1, 2 I bust shit to load guns to Beats for the hoodlums Somebody's gotta do'em Fed's screw 'em Faggot's got my whole crib bugged Mad tapps on the phone cause I deal with the thugs Drugs? never I'm overseas No, the Ice is too clever Checkin G's Nigga please Ballin' since the 70's - yeah baby Now you niggas hate me Blew up in the 80's You can't be me motherf**ker, you're broke and you're soft You can't see me motherf**ker your focus is off I was kickin game while them kids was breakdancing Too many niggas try to pert my lifestyle - romancing Overlord - so why the wack niggas ain't dead? Probably because my aim is over nigga's heads/ East coast - west coast, I play the whole map and bounce/ They got a benz but live in their mom's house... Chorus To all my G's rock on [King T] The forbidden Gangland lyric get your ride on - when you hear it Player Haters fear it Get you right up close near it Possessed by the Eazy-E spirit And niggas won't cross this line Ice-T set the limit suicide - and niggas won't cross this nine in your mouth what the f**k this really all about? man.. puffin' with my niggas down south I'm coming out All you fake G's stay home Leave that shit alone front and back, 98 brougham King Tee's back on the throne And that nigga on the mic - straight gone Cra-zy, y'all niggas wanna know the real deal? I'll freestyle and smack you in your grill Bomb lyrics, no special effects or gimmicks The Syndicate will put you in the mix - biatch...

Ice-T - Seventh Deadly Sin

Sep 1999

1. Intro
2. Don't Hate the Playa
3. Check Your Game
4. Get Your Moneyman
5. The 7th
6. N.Y., N.Y.
7. Valuable Game
8. Eye of the Storm
9. Brother Marquis (Interlude)
10. Always Wanted Ta Be a Ho
11. Fuck It
12. CJ Mac (Interlude)
13. Retaliation
14. Threat (Interlude)
15. Check Your Heart
16. Sondoobiest (Interlude)
17. Hardcore
18. Common Sense
19. God Forgive Me
20. Exodus