The song lyrics were written by the band Van Halen, as they were asked to write a song for the 1979 movie "Over the Edge" starring Matt Dillon. The movie (and the lyrics, although more obliquely) are about bored, rebellious youth with nothing better to do than get into trouble. If you see the movie, these lyrics will make more sense. It's a great movie if you grew up in the 70s/80s you'll definitely remember some of these characters from your own life. Fun fact, after writing the song, Van Halen decided not to let the movie use it.
Uhh, uhh, uhh, let's go
Uhh, bounce, uhh, bounce
Uhh, bounce, uhh,
Shit relax your mind, let your conscience be free
You're now rollin with them thugs from the R-O-C
Sigel Sigel in the house
Uh-huh, sick bastard
Get your wig pushed back by the wig push-backer
Uhh, uhh, Memph Bleek in the house
Still here, never left
Still bust, more or less, still puff, beeatch!
Uh, uhh, uh-huh-uh-uhh, uhh
Young Hova in the house, Jigga! Yeah
Crist' sipper, six dipper, wrist glitter nigga!
Hold up love
Everytime you see Jigga Man, I'm rollin on dubs
Don't forget about them blades, shit choppin it up
It's the motherfuckin 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 the engine gunnin'
Throwin' it up like liquor on an empty stomach
Y'all don't hear nuttin'?
Who that, Mac?
Nah dawg, that's M. Bleek comin
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, smokin' the sticky chocolate (ooh-wee!)
Holla if you want drama with
The Dynasty, Amil, Bleek, Jigga and
Sigel, Desert Eagle dawg, who else but me?
Roc ears, Roc-Wears, bandannas and white tees
Me without a gun, dawg, unlikely
You know I keep the heat right under the wifebeat'
Three-X-T, I'm Lincoln now, you can't see the pound
Got a little gut, so gat sit tucked (fuck)
I run wild, gun high, L.A. style
Bang 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'mma spit the talk to it
Down South gon' bounce, Crips gon' walk to it
Get a ounce, get a woods, everybody spark to it
Every dawg, every Blood in the hood, bark to it
Get the ounce, get the woods, 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, bitch!
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 nigga!
I wear more bling to The Source and Soul Train's
More chains than rings, niggas won't do a thing
I bangs the four-four in plain, daylight I'm deranged
Spray right at your brain, by the way this is Hov'
One shot Dillinger, one shot killin' ya
It's only one Roc La Familia
Sigel lock Philly up, Brooklyn is me
Matter of fact, the East coast, fuck, took it from me
Fourth album still Jay still spittin' that real shit
Volume Three still sold more records than Will Smith
Can't call this a comeback, I run rap, the fuck is y'all sayin?
Five million I done that, and I come back, to do it again (uh-huh)
Ex-sinner, Grammy award winner
Ballin repeatedly, highlights on Sportscenter
Please repeat after me, there's only one rule
I will not, lose!
Uhh, bounce, uhh, bounce
Uhh, bounce, uhh,
Shit relax your mind, let your conscience be free
You're now rollin with them thugs from the R-O-C
Sigel Sigel in the house
Uh-huh, sick bastard
Get your wig pushed back by the wig push-backer
Uhh, uhh, Memph Bleek in the house
Still here, never left
Still bust, more or less, still puff, beeatch!
Uh, uhh, uh-huh-uh-uhh, uhh
Young Hova in the house, Jigga! Yeah
Crist' sipper, six dipper, wrist glitter nigga!
Hold up love
Everytime you see Jigga Man, I'm rollin on dubs
Don't forget about them blades, shit choppin it up
It's the motherfuckin 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 the engine gunnin'
Throwin' it up like liquor on an empty stomach
Y'all don't hear nuttin'?
Who that, Mac?
Nah dawg, that's M. Bleek comin
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, smokin' the sticky chocolate (ooh-wee!)
Holla if you want drama with
The Dynasty, Amil, Bleek, Jigga and
Sigel, Desert Eagle dawg, who else but me?
Roc ears, Roc-Wears, bandannas and white tees
Me without a gun, dawg, unlikely
You know I keep the heat right under the wifebeat'
Three-X-T, I'm Lincoln now, you can't see the pound
Got a little gut, so gat sit tucked (fuck)
I run wild, gun high, L.A. style
Bang 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'mma spit the talk to it
Down South gon' bounce, Crips gon' walk to it
Get a ounce, get a woods, everybody spark to it
Every dawg, every Blood in the hood, bark to it
Get the ounce, get the woods, 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, bitch!
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 nigga!
I wear more bling to The Source and Soul Train's
More chains than rings, niggas won't do a thing
I bangs the four-four in plain, daylight I'm deranged
Spray right at your brain, by the way this is Hov'
One shot Dillinger, one shot killin' ya
It's only one Roc La Familia
Sigel lock Philly up, Brooklyn is me
Matter of fact, the East coast, fuck, took it from me
Fourth album still Jay still spittin' that real shit
Volume Three still sold more records than Will Smith
Can't call this a comeback, I run rap, the fuck is y'all sayin?
Five million I done that, and I come back, to do it again (uh-huh)
Ex-sinner, Grammy award winner
Ballin repeatedly, highlights on Sportscenter
Please repeat after me, there's only one rule
I will not, lose!
Lyrics submitted by SongMeanings
Change The Game Lyrics as written by Shawn C. Carter Ricardo Thomas
Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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