This is us
Impalas parked next to Bentley trucks
4 Bent supposed to be here, I should dig 'em up
But since I can't, we gon' hold this Henny up
15 years of greatness
15 years of hatin'
15 years of patience, that's what I had to practice
So I ain't end up back on that county jail mattress
F*ck all this rap shit
In Compton we in the dirt, sticks on us like a cactus
Cincinnati on, closin' on the third strap
Gave two away to some fans, this my third hat
Runnin' this marathon, I'm on my third lap
Where my key to the city? Don't y'all think I deserve that?
LA sheriffs left Ryan on the curb, flat
37 shots, so I'm on 133rd strapped
40 ounce love
White Air Force Ones in the mud
Euro front end on the Cutlass like, "What's up?"
See my dead homie mama, hop out and give her a hug
40 ounce love
Niggas gon' ask, so choose one, Crip or Blood
Money fallin' out your pocket while you're sellin' drugs
Every drink of Olde English, grab a cup, I'll fill it up for you
You outta gas? I'll fill it up for you
You surrounded in the club? We pullin' up for you
You went to jail? I took that money, put it up for you
You still got your hand out like I ain't did enough for you
You put on that snitch jacket and it stuck to you
On my life, I love you but I can't f*ck with you
I gotta stick to the code
Never slip, never fold, stay rich 'til I'm old
Love my kids, on my soul
Both my baby mamas know if I go, open the safe and give 'em all the gold
And my cousin, Magic Cold, he in the pen' on his toes
How you talk them people into transferrin' you to a level 4?
He got 20 months left, that shit movin' hella slow
20 blunts, half a pound a day until they let him go
I give him 30 racks every time he touch the surface
I'm startin' to think this nigga goin' to jail on purpose
Either way, I gotta keep givin' you 40 ounce love
White Air Force Ones in the mud
Euro front end on the Cutlass like, "What's up?"
See my dead homie mama, hop out and give her a hug
40 ounce love
Niggas gon' ask, so choose one, Crip or Blood
Money fallin' out your pocket while you're sellin' drugs
Every drink of Olde English, grab a cup, I'll fill it up for you
The Game - 40 Ounce Love Lyrics
The Game - 40 Ounce Love Lyrics
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This is us
Impalas parked next to Bentley trucks
4 Bent supposed to be here, I should dig 'em up
But since I can't, we gon' hold this Henny up
15 years of greatness
15 years of hatin'
15 years of patience, that's what I had to practice
So I ain't end up back on that county jail mattress
F*ck all this rap shit
In Compton we in the dirt, sticks on us like a cactus
Cincinnati on, closin' on the third strap
Gave two away to some fans, this my third hat
Runnin' this marathon, I'm on my third lap
Where my key to the city? Don't y'all think I deserve that?
LA sheriffs left Ryan on the curb, flat
37 shots, so I'm on 133rd strapped
40 ounce love
White Air Force Ones in the mud
Euro front end on the Cutlass like, "What's up?"
See my dead homie mama, hop out and give her a hug
40 ounce love
Niggas gon' ask, so choose one, Crip or Blood
Money fallin' out your pocket while you're sellin' drugs
Every drink of Olde English, grab a cup, I'll fill it up for you
You outta gas? I'll fill it up for you
You surrounded in the club? We pullin' up for you
You went to jail? I took that money, put it up for you
You still got your hand out like I ain't did enough for you
You put on that snitch jacket and it stuck to you
On my life, I love you but I can't f*ck with you
I gotta stick to the code
Never slip, never fold, stay rich 'til I'm old
Love my kids, on my soul
Both my baby mamas know if I go, open the safe and give 'em all the gold
And my cousin, Magic Cold, he in the pen' on his toes
How you talk them people into transferrin' you to a level 4?
He got 20 months left, that shit movin' hella slow
20 blunts, half a pound a day until they let him go
I give him 30 racks every time he touch the surface
I'm startin' to think this nigga goin' to jail on purpose
Either way, I gotta keep givin' you 40 ounce love
White Air Force Ones in the mud
Euro front end on the Cutlass like, "What's up?"
See my dead homie mama, hop out and give her a hug
40 ounce love
Niggas gon' ask, so choose one, Crip or Blood
Money fallin' out your pocket while you're sellin' drugs
Every drink of Olde English, grab a cup, I'll fill it up for you
Impalas parked next to Bentley trucks
4 Bent supposed to be here, I should dig 'em up
But since I can't, we gon' hold this Henny up
15 years of greatness
15 years of hatin'
15 years of patience, that's what I had to practice
So I ain't end up back on that county jail mattress
F*ck all this rap shit
In Compton we in the dirt, sticks on us like a cactus
Cincinnati on, closin' on the third strap
Gave two away to some fans, this my third hat
Runnin' this marathon, I'm on my third lap
Where my key to the city? Don't y'all think I deserve that?
LA sheriffs left Ryan on the curb, flat
37 shots, so I'm on 133rd strapped
40 ounce love
White Air Force Ones in the mud
Euro front end on the Cutlass like, "What's up?"
See my dead homie mama, hop out and give her a hug
40 ounce love
Niggas gon' ask, so choose one, Crip or Blood
Money fallin' out your pocket while you're sellin' drugs
Every drink of Olde English, grab a cup, I'll fill it up for you
You outta gas? I'll fill it up for you
You surrounded in the club? We pullin' up for you
You went to jail? I took that money, put it up for you
You still got your hand out like I ain't did enough for you
You put on that snitch jacket and it stuck to you
On my life, I love you but I can't f*ck with you
I gotta stick to the code
Never slip, never fold, stay rich 'til I'm old
Love my kids, on my soul
Both my baby mamas know if I go, open the safe and give 'em all the gold
And my cousin, Magic Cold, he in the pen' on his toes
How you talk them people into transferrin' you to a level 4?
He got 20 months left, that shit movin' hella slow
20 blunts, half a pound a day until they let him go
I give him 30 racks every time he touch the surface
I'm startin' to think this nigga goin' to jail on purpose
Either way, I gotta keep givin' you 40 ounce love
White Air Force Ones in the mud
Euro front end on the Cutlass like, "What's up?"
See my dead homie mama, hop out and give her a hug
40 ounce love
Niggas gon' ask, so choose one, Crip or Blood
Money fallin' out your pocket while you're sellin' drugs
Every drink of Olde English, grab a cup, I'll fill it up for you
Writer: Jayceon Terrell Taylor, Just Liv
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
Performed By: The Game
From Album: Born 2 Rap
Written by: Jayceon Terrell Taylor, Just Liv
Year: 2019