[The Game talking]
Is 07 shit
We runnin' through summers
in dual hummers
and tell them my crew coming for war

[Verse 1]
Ay yooooooooooooooo!
I can't let the day go without lettin' the K go
Now watch his face blow, YAYO!
Heard you hidin' in the big apple
Better keep hidin' for them Puerto Ricans kidnap you
9-3 gangsta ties
Haitans down in Miami (zoe gang!)
yeah, them Haitins down in Miami
Fat Joe don't fuck with you, Nas don't like you
So who they gonna blame when the long nose snipe you
Potado on the muscle, black tape on the grip
We in the A-Team van with black tape on your bitch
She gonna tell us where you at
We gonna twist that dro'
and just wait 'til that rat come out the that whole
No, the streets ain't safe
When we see him we gonna eat that face
Nobody we gonna beat that case
Yeah, it's on again, two shots of patron I'm in
Drive slow and let the motherfuckin' chronic spin

[Chorus: Damian Marley (The Game)]
Out in the streets they call it murder (whispering: murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill...)
(You can't fuck with the real!)
Out in the streets they call it murder (murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill...)
(Nigga, don't cross the real!)
They call it murd... They call it murd... They call it murd...
(murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill...)
They call it murd...
(You can't fuck with the real!)
They call it murd... They call it murd... They call it murd... They call it murd...
(Nigga, don't cross the real!)

[Verse 2]
What type of bitch niggaz put his hands on kids (Homo!)
Pull up that black van on his (Nope)
We don't do the kid slap, we do the kid snatchin'
Eyewitness news, there's been a kidnappin'
Feed 'em real good, takin' home to play with Harlem
Sit by the phone, just wait it's your daddy callin'
Naah, we don't get down like that
but 50's momma we'll put you in the ground like that
Cuuuurtisss
Tryin' to make peace with Dipset
but you ain't even address the beef with Jin yet
It's on now, better call dr. Ben and Russell
Set up a peace treaty or go get some muscle
Call the lighty brothers, call all your lil' flunkies
Call the snitch hotline and get the G-Unit monkeys
Call the cops, I'm still 100 miles an runnin'
Then call the God and tell him your ass is comin'

[Chorus: Damian Marley (The Game)]
Out in the streets they call it murder (murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill...)
(You can't fuck with the real!)
Out in the streets they call it murder (murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill...)
(Never cross the real!)
They call it murd... They call it murd... They call it murd...
(murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill...)
They call it murd...
(You can't fuck with the real!)
They call it murd... They call it murd... They call it murd... They call it murd...
(Never cross the real!)

[Verse 3]
This ain't "Ether", nah, this ain't "Hit 'em up"
This is a lot of dead bodies, who gonna pick them up
We just shot the corner
Who gonna drive the truck
Fuck the whole G-Unit who lied to Buck
Fuck Spider too, now that's for Big Fase
I know where you countin' your sheeps
I'll have some Crips waitin'
youtube banger, tell me how that clip taste
You kiss Lakisha in that mouth, tell me how my dick taste
I got the crown nigga, it's going down nigga
and Los Angelesss - it's my town nigga!
I got a place where bodies don't get found nigga
Where the dead sleep and ghost don't make a sound nigga
The real 50 Cent, he knew Jimmy Henchmen, the real Jimmy Henchmen
Look at them niggaz flinchin'
We ain't gonna do shit
I'll have your crew sit (?)
So play like them is toy guns and this is just music

[Chorus: Damian Marley (The Game)]
Out in the streets they call it murder (murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill...)
(You can't fuck with the real!)
Out in the streets they call it murder (murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill...)
(Don't ever cross the real!)
They call it murd... They call it murd... They call it murd...
(murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill...)
They call it murd...
(Niggaz can't fuck with the real!)
They call it murd... They call it murd... They call it murd... They call it murd...
(Don't fuck with the real!)

[The Game talking]
It's Blackwall Street nigga!
Is 07, we can't be fuck with
Try and die, motherfuckers
I run the world, it's on!



Lyrics submitted by BlinkBullet71

Body Bag song meanings
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2 Comments

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  • +1
    General Commentjanetgarcia, do you not think the lyric is "potato on the muzzle" - as this would act as a silencer for a pistol, and the black tape on the grip would hide fingerprints on the grip when they use it then dispose of the gun and take the tape off the grip.....
    Baaatton October 06, 2009   Link
  • 0
    General CommentWell first off i must say this is one of the best diss songs ever.
    but usually that could be said of any game diss.!
    but some of your lyrics were jus straight up wrong.
    i'm one of the biggest game fans yoo'll find. hes bringing back the west. and putting us back on the map.
    they go a lil more like this:


    [The Game talking]
    Is 07 shit
    We runnin' through summers
    in dual hummers
    and tell them my crew coming for war

    [Verse 1]
    Ay yooooooooooooooo!
    I can't let the day go without lettin' the K go
    Now watch his face blow, YAYO!
    Heard you hidin' in the big apple
    Better keep hidin' for them Puerto Ricans kidnap you
    9-3 gangsta ties
    Haitans down in Miami (zoe gang!)
    yeah, them Haitins down in Miami
    Fat Joe don't fuck with you, Nas don't like you
    So who they gonna blame when the long nose snipe you
    Potado on the muscle, black tape on the grip
    We in the A-Team van with black tape on your bitch
    She gonna tell us where you at
    We gonna twist that dro'
    and just wait 'til that rat come out the that HOE
    No, the streets ain't safe
    When we see him we gonna eat that face
    Nobody we gonna beat that case
    Yeah, it's on again, two shots of patron I'm in
    Drive slow and let the motherfuckin' chronic spin

    [Chorus: Damian Marley (The Game)]
    Out in the streets they call it murder (whispering: murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill...)
    (You can't fuck with the real!)
    Out in the streets they call it murder (murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill...)
    (Nigga, don't cross the real!)
    They call it murd... They call it murd... They call it murd...
    (murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill...)
    They call it murd...
    (You can't fuck with the real!)
    They call it murd... They call it murd... They call it murd... They call it murd...
    (Nigga, don't cross the real!)

    [Verse 2]
    What type of bitch niggaz put his hands on kids (Homo!)
    Pull up that black van on his (Nope)
    We don't do the kid slap, we do the kid snatchin'
    Eyewitness news, there's been a kidnappin'
    Feed 'em real good, takin' home to play with Harlem
    Sit by the phone, just wait it's your daddy callin'
    Naah, we don't get down like that
    but 50's momma we'll put you in the ground like that
    Cuuuurtisss
    Tryin' to make peace with Dipset
    but you ain't even address the beef with JIM yet
    It's on now, better call dr. Ben and Russell
    Set up a peace treaty or go get some muscle
    Call the lighty brothers, call all your lil' flunkies
    Call the snitch hotline and get the G-Unit monkeys
    Call the cops, I'm still 100 miles an runnin'
    Then call the God and tell him your ass is comin'

    [Chorus: Damian Marley (The Game)]
    Out in the streets they call it murder (murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill...)
    (You can't fuck with the real!)
    Out in the streets they call it murder (murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill...)
    (Never cross the real!)
    They call it murd... They call it murd... They call it murd...
    (murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill...)
    They call it murd...
    (You can't fuck with the real!)
    They call it murd... They call it murd... They call it murd... They call it murd...
    (Never cross the real!)

    [Verse 3]
    This ain't "Ethier", nah, this ain't "Hit 'em up"
    This is a lot of dead bodies, who gonna pick them up
    We just shot the corner
    Who gonna drive the truck
    Fuck the whole G-Unit who lied to Buck
    Fuck Spider too, now that's for Big Fase
    I know where you countin' your sheeps
    I'll have some Crips waitin'
    youtube banger, tell me how that clip taste
    You kiss Lakisha in that mouth, tell me how my dick taste
    I got the crown nigga, it's going down nigga
    and Los Angelesss - it's my town nigga!
    I got a place where bodies don't get found nigga
    Where the dead sleep and ghost don't make a sound nigga
    The real 50 Cent, he knew Jimmy Henchmen, the real Jimmy Henchmen
    Look at them niggaz flinchin'
    We ain't gonna do shit
    I'll have your crew sit (?)
    So play like them is toy guns and this is just music

    [Chorus: Damian Marley (The Game)]
    Out in the streets they call it murder (murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill...)
    (You can't fuck with the real!)
    Out in the streets they call it murder (murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill...)
    (Don't ever cross the real!)
    They call it murd... They call it murd... They call it murd...
    (murder, murder, murder... kill, kill, kill...)
    They call it murd...
    (Niggaz can't fuck with the real!)
    They call it murd... They call it murd... They call it murd... They call it murd...
    (Don't fuck with the real!)

    [The Game talking]
    It's Blackwall Street nigga!
    Is 07, we can't be fucked with
    Try and die, motherfuckers
    I run the world, it's on!
    janetgarciaon October 08, 2007   Link

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