Текст песни Game Ain't Based On Sympathy - Rick Ross
Reminiscing
on
that,
uh…
I
remember
they
used
to
give
us
that
free
cheese...
A
big
block
of
that
shit
Yeah,
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,
you
know
what
I'm
saying?
You
gotta
feed
it
to
them
raw.
Feel
me?
Renovating
the
ghettoes,
moving
me
elsewhere
Daddy
didn't
see
pension
they
took
his
healthcare
Affordable
housing
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
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
beefing
with
rappers
It's
just
murder
or
nothing
New
positions
to
master,
I
perfected
the
others
Niggas
shoot
for
the
Magic,
never
heard
of
Matumbo
These
are
lucrative
assets,
golden
words
that
will
mumble
you
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
Stacy
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
sitting
a
bomb
outside
your
mom
door
Got
your
people
alarmed
cause
we
the
armed
force
Easy
as
leaking
a
song
before
I
go
on
tour
Uh
Gang
violence
ongoing,
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
Holding
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
once
or
twice
a
month
he
leave
the
house
Older
brother,
type
to
get
a
curly
perm
Pappy
Mason
type
respect
for
holding
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
root
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
1 Summer Seventeen
2 Maybach Music V
3 Triple Platinum
4 Lamborghini Doors
5 Game Ain't Based On Sympathy
6 Powers That Be
7 I Think She Like Me
8 She on My D*ck
9 She on My Dick
10 Dead Presidents
11 Trap Trap Trap
12 Idols Become Rivals
13 Santorini Greece
14 Apple of My Eye
15 Scientology
16 I Think She Like Me
17 Maybach Music V
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