Throwed-n-da Game Lyrics

Throwed-n-da Game lyrics

f/ Billy Cook







(Billy Cook)



Oooooh-oooh, Iiiiiiiiii'm so throwed, in the game



In the two triple O, Po-Yo, Billy G, aaaaaaaay







[Hook: Billy Cook - 2x]



I'm so thoed in the game



All the haters wanna know my name



I'm pushing weight, to leveling the game



Open up your eyes, and see the fame







[Big Pokey]



I'm so, thoed in the game



Blood and sweat, got a nigga feeling the pain



Moving like a freight train, and ain't looking back



Trying to make the big head stack, feel that



Open your eyes, I'm a wolverine on the rise



Mobbing like Wise Guys, my eyes on the prize



Recognize, it's a hell of a feeling 



It's cathedral ceilings, I'm building and shuffling shilling



Trying to touch a million, 'fore my time is up



I ain't touched it yet, so I ain't blind enough



And the playa haters agitated, cause the figgas



I done calculated, I put it in they face laminated



Nonstop, let em know my guns chop



And if it's on, I'ma make they lungs stop



Snitches, I'ma snatch they tongue out



Oooh yeah, know I'm talking bout







[Hook: Billy Cook - 2x]







[Big Pokey]



I'm a playa, lose corners checking my trap



Hitting gaps like Warren Sapp, trying to make something happ'n



Day for day with it, on the block getting paid with it



Twenty fo' seven, I stay with it



I don't play with it, I pump it nigga



Laws come dumping, all the neers gate and jumping nigga



Get my bail on, head home and get my cell phone



So I could re-up, and get my mail on



This ain't the first time, I lost my do'



Or toss my do', as long as I ain't lost my hoe



Can't cry over spilled milk, just jump on my game



And make my gears shift, real swift



I'm a threat, one of the realest you ever met



If I'm trading a set, with a brick and some wet



In the big body Lex on dubs, pop pushed up



Sitting low on the dubs, nigga what







[Hook: Billy Cook - 2x]







[Big Pokey]



All I need is a three beam, and coffee mug to shake



Big bag of weight, compressed and duct taped



Peep the print on it, K-9 can't get a scent on it



Bust that hoe down, and let the fleas get bent on it



My hustle, I've been known it for deep



Keep my game concrete, cement under my feet



Head up, moving in the right direction



Knowing I can make a mill, with the right connection



Mob Style through Texas, a A-1 selection



And I spit the truth, like a sinner in confession



Hauling wessins, waiting for something to jump



First nigga to bump, will catch a hot one in his gum



Get your paper by all means, gotta survive



Working this crack of construction, from nine to five



But it's my time to shine, I'ma blind they eyes



Knocking my rides off like french fries, supersized







[Hook: Billy Cook - 2x]