Game Ain't Based On Sympathy

[Intro]

Reminiscing on that, uh

I remember they used to give us that free cheese

A big block of that shit, hehe

Yo, hehe, man I'm glad y’all ain't gotta get that cheese

Man, I thank God my kids ain't gotta see that cheese, yo

(M-M-M-M-Maybach Music)

You know what I’m saying?

You gotta feed it to them raw, feel me?

[Verse 1]

Renovatin' the ghettos, movin' me elsewhere

Daddy didn't see pension, they took his healthcare

Affordable housin' and they fed us welfare

Showed us Tony Montana, teachers couldn't care less

A young prince in Miami, son of a pharaoh

This is deeper than raps, I can't run from the echoes

And I still hear the screams

Under my mattress box springs, I still see the C.R.E.A.M

MAC-11 next to Grammy invitations

I'm never quiet, tell my niggas all my aspirations

No more beefin' with rappers, it's just murder or nothin'

New positions to master, I perfected the others

Niggas shoot for the Magic, never heard of Mutumbo

These are lucrative assets, golden words that I mumble

[Verse 2]

This the biggest

Corner store was the stage, I needed management

In a mansion that I could squeeze another Phantom in

Negative people just seem to fail first

I said I'm a genius, put in the legwork

You step to my niggas, suggest you stay alert

No, I've never been lenient, nor a man of mercy

I stick my dick in her, tell her my net worth

Then we stare at each other and see who catch first

A pretty chick, she resembles Stacey Dash

If it was her, she had to kiss my feet and lick my ass

Pussy nigga want war, til' it's bonjour

Those hitters sittin' a bomb outside your mom door

Got your people alarmed 'cause we the armed force

Easy as leakin' a song before I go on tour

[Verse 3]

Uh, gang violence ongoin', let's fight our own wars

Chicago been out of hand, the city lost its soul

Funeral every weekend or either you cremated

Homie's son, he been murdered, he didn't seem faded

Holdin' guns on the 'Gram, out of my league baby

Real killers and hitters would rather live nameless

I got a homie I know with a twenty body count

Maybe only once or twice a month he leave the house

Older brother, type to get a curly perm

Pappy Mason type, respect for holdin' thirty birds

Never was a gangster, I just wanted in

No longer could I deny that I wanted a Benz

Booby gave me blessings and a ruse for me to win

I showed him my ambition in two different fields

Also, said I was a rapper, Booby here it is

Real talk my nigga, here it is