Body Bag

janetgarcia, 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.....

Well 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!