Buddens by Game
We got a problem Houston, not Marques Houston or his little rapping side kick, we got a real mutha fuckin' problem. And it's only gonna be one of these songs, after that ima knock your mutha fuckin' ass out.
Verse 1
Bitch niggas get put in the coffin with all that psychopath talking, you listening to the source and I ain't from boston, I'm gang banging, wear G-6's call em' how I see em', these niggas is bitches, and clue put this nigga on a song and now it's g-unit, and I came to get it on, you ain't hot, nigga you look warm, I'll hog tie your ass with g-unit shoes on, you had pump it up that was a koo song, you only sold 10 records nigga now move on, talking about you got ratchets and tools on when you was at the all-star game with no jewels on, I can't believe I gave you dap, with the 45 on me I should of gave you that, pistol whipped you laid you flat, jump off buddens nah, disgrace to a yankee hat, and it's time to state my biz, only nigga pushing rocket jersey is jason kidd, you a phony nigga I'll erase your wig, have you running to the church like Mason did.
Chorus
Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens, Buddens
Verse 2
You don't know me fool, to diss me on dj clue, I don't need no assistance to dig you a ditch, and any problem I got I just put my clip in, you fake like janet's titty, one call 300 bloods in atlantic city, you bad boy then dance like diddy, I give celebrity beat downs, I bring the camera with me, on that mixtape shit you knew my man was 50, and I keep something chrome in them tanish dickeys, smoke niggas like a gram of sticky, and I know my way to harlem I'll take you to bransons with me, come to Compton you'll vanish quickly, I got niggas in the hood that'll kill you for a can of Mickey's, gangs of L.A. we never die, and we'll let hollow tips fly at Joe
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