Текст песни Pre-Game - Sauce Money , Jay-Z

I lay my gun fine, ideas be as bright as the sunshine
Shook the rap game with just one line
When me and my niggas combine, all day, you know what?
Sometimes, I run with mad niggas who done time
Hit you with eight, from one nine, now you showin the vein
My shells is like information, go in your brain
Holdin my slug, before you squeeze em show em the love
Burn your fingertips so throw em a glove, understand me
Before my album drop, cop the Grammy, uncanny
Bought my first Role' from Manny
Dirty burners my crew never hand me, nigga we family
You not, get shot, get caught slippin like Dexter Manley
With at least ten lead, spray right, paint your skin red
Damn we, all the shit you can't be
We big time, you small time, real small like how an ant be
Marcy, bust a shot for Metcalf, Tilo and Danny
Peace to the Bureils, Cut Wop and Stanley
Boom Moet and bow, my whole set is wild
Past threats, frontin flash singles and that's bent
Fuck a bitch, you know the drill
Cut a check or suck a dick

Jigga, what the fuck?
As a youth explosively, clappin off the roof
Shootin guard like Kobe, raised up slay smears and bo'e
Back then, Gil was my codiene, Spanish Jose
Showed me how to get the money niggas owed me
Fast forward, no kids, six cars and three Role's
Two cribs, trips to Cuba, sippin on Uba
Got rap in a stupor, first to clap your group up
From the Range with the ski rack, or six with the Ruger
Shit, I light the motherfuckin soundproof booth up
New shit, y'all say the same shit like you're looped up
Your rap's all lazy, Jigga the Black Scorcese
What your album lack is more Jay-Z
Code name: Jay-hovah, all praise me
Y'all don't paint pictures, y'all all trace me
You've yet to see the day when my squad be done
I represent that shit nigga, Marcy son, what?

I grab my dick in front of your bitch, screaming "Fuck your spot"
Heat miser, anything I ever touch was hot
Sauce watching all ya wildcats flop, sound greasy [?]
One song on your whole CD, making my job easy
Figured as much though, got your hustle swinging
Cop a muzzle, then y'all got the nerve to drop a double?
Everybody ain't big nigga, everybody can't flow like Jigg Nigga
Bitch niggas listen: No sorrow tomorrow if you swallow hollow-points
Like a dread in the weed spot, I'mma move some joints
I ain't playing, these BK slugs spraying
Mute niggas could tell you how nice I am, it goes without saying
Malicious, rap flow vicious, stack dough
Bitches suckin' dicks, they fat boy delicious
Pretentious niggas get it in slow-mo
Kodak couldn't picture that, so X-ray machines taking your team photo
Niggas switching like a homo, shit on your team
Fuck how they feel, get all that CREAM
Here comes the drama, here's the drummer, they call your number
And now your fun-filled summer filled with bounty hunters
If a bitch fuck you for free, cats will kill you for the same fee
Think niggas give a fuck what your name be? Or your raw crew?
Kid you're all saw-through
Mad cause you ain't blow yet, never fret nigga your bitch blew for you
Get on some prince shit like, "I truly adore you"
Never, crab cat, fuck you, have that
Sauce mother F-U tricks all in the mix
300 large on my flat up in the sticks
Nothing but a lot of leg room, the sun and my bitch
Getting fatter of salmon, croquets and grits
Peace to all my niggas in Marcy, Viya Schmidt and Bits [?]
L-channel henny and crime, nigga which?
One of y'all in the mirror looking facing them 8's
One in your helmet, might induce a case of the shakes
B-scott, what the deal son? Reno where the dro at?
Sauce Money
You know that, nigga