Letter To The Game

Verse 1:

I send niggaz to go inside ya bed

The bullets will coincide wit' your body

My muthafuckas will go upside ya head

I be tryna control my desires:

Bitches, money, and liquor

Purple on the side, my dedication to niggaz

They wanna follow, I ain't ready to lead

When it was time to pop off I was ready to breeze

But there was some'n in my soul that was telling me to squeeze

Seen him dead, laying different, I knew he couldn't breathe

Nigga you fuckin' wit' a G

My alias Biggavel'

Better ride your own wave, I got bitches to feel

Bring my people out the hood

Drop a few on the scale

Even brought a couple niggaz that was boost up in jail

Heard a story 'bout my nigga

Who would knew he would tell

It's cuz of you bitch that my nigga in jail

Federales came through the fuckin' pen

Tried to shoot me a L

Got me stuck, tryna recruit me to tell

Hook:

You told me you need me, ow

You told me you loved me, ow

This my letter to the game

Why'd you lie to me

I let you ride for free

Things ain't the same

You said you better take me back

You better cut me slack Max, ow

You also said 'til death do us part you will never walk away

Verse 2:

Take a look at the matter, it's so edgy

Take a look at my swagger, I'm so ready

Take my picture, I'm bad and I'm so heavy

I'm so ready, ready for the game

Slick-talker, I ain't have to trick 'fetti for ya dame

Bitches, they tell me I look good, I'm sexy in the Range

It's like I'm cruising jet skis in the lane

If the water wasn't frozen you could ski off the chain

Muthafucka, I'm still here, like a 3 off the brain

Make a lil' some'n, I could still eat off of 'caine

I don't need you, I'm cakey up in the innie

I'm the Boss Don bitch, I wear the pants in the family

Naw, I ain't content with being rich, and I'm good

I love my niggaz cuz they treat me like Richie in the hood

With Max B, you gon' know I'm with chips up in the hood

Stack keys, stack cheese, that grip up in the hood

Hook

Verse 3:

Fuck the police, coming straight from the streets

Fulla crack, a young nigga gotta bag cuz he black

Gotta bag cuz he whack

Feds caught him slippin', got a pass cuz he rap

The boy Max home and I'm glad that he back

Glad that he focus now, glad that he rap

I seen him Hummer-stuntin' in that bad Cadillac

Pop tryna flea the game but they drag daddy back

I'll put your body parts in them Glad baggie sacks

Nigga the Dips come through in the latest toys

You fuckin' with them boys

I'm the realest nigga out

Gold clip, cock back, time to air this nigga out

No, uh-uh, I ain't tryna feel this nigga out

I ain't tryna meet at the table and hear this nigga out

Tryna clear this nigga out

Put the gun to his chin and air it in his mouth

Hook