Hit Em Hard The Game (Ft. Bobby Shmurda, Freddie Gibbs & Skeme)

[Verse 1: The Game]
I got a black mac and a six pack
I don't work out, I don't chit chat
My bitch bad, I get racks
That Rolls Royce, come gift-wrapped
Them birds still come shrink-wrapped
I'm not strapped, don't think that
I'm low key with that click clack
That rat a tat tat tat tat
Throw the burner and I'm runnin' home
Niggas stop being loyal when the money gone
Still walk in this bitch, I'm a hundred strong
One chain on my neck, feel like I got a hundred on
Look at my flow on this bitch
Platinum and gold on my wrist
Money, the accountant be countin' it
That's why I'm throwin' this shit
I'm in BK with that SK
Same clothes since yesterday
With that Biggie Smalls on replay
And I ain’t wearing no vest today
I do the Shmoney dance with this mac
You better do it too or get Shmurda’d
I be grilling that beef, I ain’t talkin’ no burgers
I finna be walkin’ like I’m a New Yorker
I let off the K and then I hop in the Uber
It’s never a question that I am the shooter
I empty the clip and lay you in a pool of
Blood, see how he got hit with the Ruger?
Blood, bandana that’s how we be movin’
Blood, su wooping from Compton to Brooklyn
And this ain’t the Barclays but niggas be shootin’