Yes, the game
Analogic
Yes, uh
Let's make a move
Here we go
It's Phonte and K.O
Delivering that new born shit
This verse is a day old
So handle with care and keep your hands in the air
When I'm on stage hand in my face, doin' the Yayo
Soul seductive if you say so
But so productive cause I lay low
Back in the days before the laptops and trails
Now it's cribs and trucks and fam on the pay roll
All cause we make the crowd say Ho
With no tour support or major label backin'
I mean without no up front money just back ends
Now the check is cut before the bus even back in
Niggas see me in the magazines like
Tay your verse was Murder Dog
Funny, that's the first time I heard of y'all
And that's exactly why this track I put a hurtin' on
Until my ungodly flow have converted y'all
My verse is outstandin'
Punchline knock you on the canvas
Like I'm boxin' in the title bout landin'
Keep the crowd standin'
Come to see now for free
But dollars, the freestyler that spits without plannin'
Sold CDs on the road without scannin'
With cheap promoters, arguin' to get my man in
Photographers
Focus in their Fujis and Canons
You see the fans in the background usually standin'
Words, Phonte and Ace
Give us a stage and dates
Explorin', tourin' the states like Amazing Race
Talk openly
My terms and poetry is like a sperm and ovaries
Then in turn, you'll learn to grow with me
Socially discussin' each rhyme
And each lines potency
My first impression is good
I don't need no third
I always need a second chance to be heard
Ayo, we rose from the bottom now we major
Look at where we goin' now
Look at where we came from
Holes in the walls to the sold out palladiums
Grow, never fall, stand fall till we ancient bro
And to the fan base we gotta give appreciations
To the critics from the magazines and publications
To the DJs that spun our jams across the nation
Thank you for the loyalty, love and the dedication
Today they love me long time
Tomorrow, new rapper, new drink
New coat tails to latch on
The game treat me like I used to treat my old flame
Left me with a bad taste, wrinkle my face and iron me
Okay that was a bad line
And sadly enough, I've been writin' a lot of those lately
The fans notice and they start to hate me
Damn it, I tarnish my track record
That hip hop song made my album a wack record
They used to cop my merchandise
Spit my verse, word for word
Cult followers knew I was nice
But that wasn't enough, I had to take a roll of that dice
And cop nothing but a snake eyes and to my surprise
I returned home like the prodigal
Haters do they damn best to abolish you
Chickens slobbin' you for nickle bags
Swear they trickin' you
Mad at them because the game tricked me
One song, no album about two minutes and thirty - two seconds
Which means somebody owes me twelve more minutes of fame
One song, no album about two minutes and thirty - two seconds
Which means somebody owes me twelve more minutes of fame
Truthfully, I'm glad some rap fans remember me
I read all the letters and e-mails you sendin' me
Honestly, the game don't feel like a friend to me
It feels more like I'm sleepin' with the enemy
Cause payin' dues really feels like a penalty
The shit feels like, a big waste of energy
Because cruel is what this rap game has been to me
That's why I'm bout to get out
Like it's ten to three
I do have the tendency
To treat my injury, and drink a little Hennessy
But I don't have an alcohol dependency
Some dudes do, from fuckin' with this industry
That's why a lot of rappers smoke like a chimney
The game got 'em sick
They tryin' to find a remedy
From now til infinity
I'm gonna try to increase my wealth like a Kennedy

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