Change the Game (feat. Beanie Sigel & Memphis Bleek)

Uh, uh, uh

Let's go

Uh, bounce

Uh, bounce

Uh, bounce

Uh

Shit, relax your mind, let your conscience be free

You're now rolling with them thugs from the R-O-C

Sigel Sigel in the house, sick bastard (Uh-huh)

Get your wig pushed back by the wig push-backer (Ugh, ugh)

Memph Bleek in the house

Still here, never left

Still bust more or less, still puff, biatch

Young Hova in the house, yeah (Jigga)

Crist' sipper, six dipper, wrist glitter, ****

Hold up, love

Every time you see Jigga, man, I'm rolling on dubs

Don't forget about them blades, shit, chopping it up

It's the motherfucking Roc, bitch, who hotter than us?

Jay-Hov, 'bout to change my name to Jay Peso

But in the meantime, call me William H. though

On the platinum Yamaha, got that engine gunning

Throwing it up like liquor on an empty stomach

(Shh) Y'all don't hear nothing?

Who that, Mac?

Nah, dawg, that's M Bleek coming (Who the fluck want what?)

Catch Bleek in South Beach out of the reach of the police

Gat on my lap (Yeah)

Bitch on my back (Holla)

Yak in my pocket

Smoking the sticky chocolate (Ooh wee)

Holler if you want drama with

The dynasty

Amil, Bleek, Jigga and

Sigel, Desert Eagle, dawg, who else but me?

Roc heirs, Roc-wears, bandannas and white T's

Me without a gun, dawg, unlikely

You know I keep the heat right under the wifebeat

Three X-T, I'm eating now, you can't see the pound

Got a lil' gut so the gat sit tucked

I run wild, gun high, L.A. style

Band the roscoe to the sunrise, plus I stay dumb high

Whether block shit or rock shit

Club shit or drug shit, I pop shit, I got shit

Get Sig any track, I'ma spit the talk to it

Down south, gon' bounce, Crips gon' walk to it

Get a ounce, get a Wood's, everybody spark to it

Every dawg, every Blood in the hood bark to it

Get the ounce, get the Wood's, everybody spark to it

We can smoke in here, put the choke in the air

Don't change the game for these hoes

Who plays the game like we supposed

Sigel Sigel in the house

Uh-huh, sick bastard

Get your wig pushed back by the wig push-backer

Don't change the game for these hoes

Who plays the game like we supposed

Memph Bleek in the house

Still here, never left

Still bust more or less, still puff, biatch

Don't change the game for these hoes

Who plays the game like we supposed

Young Hova in the house, Jigga

Crist' sipper, six dipper, wrist glitter, ****

I wear more bling to The Source than Soul Train's

More chains than rings, **** won't do a thing

I bangs the .44 in plain daylight, I'm deranged

Spray right at your brain

By the way, this is Hov

One shot Dillinger, one shot killing ya

There's only one Roc La Familia

Sigel lock Philly up, Brooklyn is me

Matter of fact, the Eastcoast fuck took it from me

Fourth album, still Jay, still spitting that real shit

Volume 3 still sold more records than Will Smith

Can't call this a comeback, I run rap, the fuck is y'all saying?

Five million, I done that and I come back to do it again

Uh-huh, ex-sinner, Grammy award winner

Balling repeatedly, highlight's on Sportscenter

Please, repeat after me, there's only one rule

I will not lose