Lyrics:
Games Johnson

's getting critical Are we to cynical... Could use a miracle... The games we play The shows we give My heart you break I live through this...The games we play The games

it's getting critical Are we to cynical... Could use a miracle... The games we play The shows we give My heart you break I live through this...The games we play The games

if you think that you're fuckin' with me, homie, you're on one I'm cockin' my head back like Ed Lover, c'mon on, son She's on my Johnson, she brings

1) Shorty in down, good Lord Baby got em up open all over town Strictly biz, she don't play around Cover much grounds, got game by the pound Getting

hell with gasoline drawers on I'm the portrait of a hustler and once again it's on I still got money buried in my backyard I'm bumpy like Johnson, they

find a bitch that don't be cream, bring her Last seen with Bing, he got dropped between us Shit is constant, that's why I pack the Johnson and Johnson

' artist in rap While I'm sittin' back in my office, jackin' off to my plaques I'm still sick, how can I be sick this long And I'm still alive, Magic Johnson

, like the curb. So bitches wanna meet cuz I'm deep with my words, So them niggas wanna peep like a perv, But peep game. Before they start saying 'He

streets know game, can't ball, don't play Every traffic, one lane, everybody move Two words, Mos Def, black jack, hot shit Calm down, get back, ghetto people, got this Game