All It Takes Songtext / Lyric

[Chorus 2x]

A little bit of game is all it takes

A little bit of game goes a long long way

[Verse 1]

Cuddie I dont sleep much, 'cause when I close my eyes

I hear cries from my potna's who lost they lives

Visions of bloody brutality's reality

Gotta stay focused and hope it dont affect my salary

Them calories, they keep my pockets fat, I got to stack a grip

Try not to trip, and keep them gold diggers off my dick

I'm gettin' sick 'cause I drink 24-7

The way I'm livin' now, if I die, theres no heaven

Gotta help my potnas in the pen 'cause they livin' broke

This aint no joke, on parole and I cant smoke

No sticky indo, roll down the window

'Cause if I breathe(?) the task is back? like Nintendo

Gotta play the game like a professional

If you aint having money I got to let you go

I need to let you know the rules before you?

Rule number one potna, never should you pimpatrate

I spit this pimpin' straight and cut no addatives

Just nouns and adjectives, how mad you get dont mattter bitch

I'm a player so I serve the game

Maintain campaign, and have thangs

[Chorus 2x]

[Verse 2]

Back in '92 I was drowned in them big cases

But now its '97 and I'm counting them big faces

I switched places with them sardines and squares

The? fillet mignon, and garlic bread

A hard head, big heart, and gorilla nuts

Got me mobbin' thru the bay like I dont give a fuck

I'm whipped, equipped, and stay dipped in butter sauce

Pill if shes real, no scrill I cut her off

'Cause fine ass bitches with the empty bank book

Is worse than them ugly muthafuckas who cant cook

My game cooked for five years in the feds

Now its time for these game hungry niggas to get fed

I get bread, so them suckas down me

Smile in my face but clown me when they not around me

Talk down on my every move, but I couldnt give a damn

Playas do what they want, and suckas do what they can

[Chorus 2x]

[Verse 3]

7-5-70, my DOB, uhh

And I've been breakin' hoes since '83, what?

Money makers manual, handle my business discretly

Dont give my home phone number out, beep me

'Cause aint no tellin' who be tellin', or who they tell

And plus I heard that they be sellin' kinfolk the yayo

Boy get your mail, dont act like your lil sista

If you lackin' in this mackin' boy I bet you fist her

Get some get right as I come tight to this Doo Doo Dumb

Track, that cat K-Lou, knew how to come

With Mac Dre, that 3 C veteran

More game than March Madness, and dope as exederin

Hit big licks, wouldnt pull no small capers

I'm a be a dog and stay up like wall paper

Look at these break bitches like they stank

Collect my bank and stay sharp as a shank

[Chorus]