Artist: Game Album: Hoodmorning (No Typo): Candy Coronas Mixtape Song: Fucked Up Typed by: AZ Lyrics [Chorus: Game] These niggaz got me fucked up [x4] These niggaz got me, I think These niggaz got me fucked up [Verse 1: Game] I be on the block with that chrome boy, Postin' up with my home boy Leanin' on the 2 tone boy, What you want for them zones boy 10-5, 10-4, put it on the scale, add a little more Take a shot of that 'tron boy, bag it up and then gone boy They givin' [?] out, watch yourself on that phone boy They gave me seven [?], mama singing that song boy We gettin' money baby, we gettin' cash money Stuntin' like im Birdman, sittin' on my cash 120 on the dash, 4 [?] on the wheeeeels Paper stacking too long boy, blowing cheech and that chong boy Better watch that tone boy, headshots to that dome boy [Chorus x2] [Verse 2 - Menace] Think a nigga trip the way I walk around Gotta keep that pistol on my hip to lay them haters down Gotta keep them bitches on my dick then I bring [?] around Paper stash gon' break em down, fuck 'em hard don't make a sound I'm all about that trap boy, ride around with that pistol Gotta keep the bitch in my lap boy, hater niggaz, come get ya Made my niggaz [?], my niggaz clean, we do it [?], try to intervene Thats suicide fuckin' with my team, I'm blowing clouds and I'm 'bout the cream Yeah, and I'm bout that shit, we full of chips, and I'm [?] hoes Y'all full of shit, not suckin' the O's, I'm too legit and I'm tippin' 4's Niggaz really want it, bitches lookin' silly for it Really kill the niggaz for it, niggaz lookin' real important [Chorus x2] [Verse 3 - Game] Say boy, ever had a bitch all up in your crib Stickin' that dick all up in the ribs Then she tell fuck niggaz where you live And now they all up in your shit Flippin' matresses over, turnin' couches sideways They thinkin' crime pays Got a choppa For the niggaz that don't understand how the fuck we ope- -rate and anyway get back on top of my paper chase Kush burnin', smell the dragon, 29's, been had 'em Niggaz take shots, then runnin' high We'll find their ass, Bin Ladin Me and Mike in the Benz wagon, better watch your block boy Purple clouds of that Pepe Lepue, I'm gone of that Ciroc boy Clipped up to that pop boy, holdin' on to that knot boy Palms grippin' that Glock boy, we comin' back for them yachts boy [Chorus x2]