Music Video

The Game - Up On The Wall (feat. Problem, Ty Dolla $ign and YG) (Lyric Video)
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Featured In

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
The Game
The Game
Vocals
Problem
Problem
Vocals
Ty Dolla $ign
Ty Dolla $ign
Vocals
YG
YG
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Jason Martin
Jason Martin
Songwriter
Jayceon Terrell Taylor
Jayceon Terrell Taylor
Songwriter
Keenon Jackson
Keenon Jackson
Songwriter
Kevin Gilliam
Kevin Gilliam
Songwriter
Tyrone Griffin Jr
Tyrone Griffin Jr
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Brian Sumner
Brian Sumner
Recording Engineer
DJ Battlecat
DJ Battlecat
Producer
Mauricio "Veto" Iragorri
Mauricio "Veto" Iragorri
Mastering Engineer
Steve Baughman
Steve Baughman
Mastering Engineer
Thomas Cullison
Thomas Cullison
Assistant Engineer

Lyrics

Old pussy ass Mark, bitch ass buster Think you from LA cause you listen to some Mustard This is Battlecat, my nigga Kurupt had the battle raps We go back like four flats on the Cadillac Nigga you ain't never been to a hood day You ain't on no Ice Cube, today was a good day You ain't never been on dropped off in the jungle Teared Khakis, red bandana wrapped around your knuckles Me and my brother used to dip down in 'Shaw Stopped at the Weinerschnitzel, got socked in the jaw Bought some sixties I bombed back, the nigga pulled out a strap Said it's 6-0, I ducked then he missed me Now I'm back to Bompton Bombing, before I hit the hood A nigga gotta stop in the swans and pick up a sack Had fifty for an eighth and I only had fifty Made it last all day, smoking with the homies My nigga G weed from [?] My nigga Hooter from Athens Park stay brackin' Fo' line, deuce line, Bray still active And the Cedars ain't giving no passes Why we asking? How you gon bang if you really ain't from LA We spray your gang up on the wall Tell me And how you gon' fade [?] if you really don't know the dance I see you really don't bang at all Murder was the case that they gave Game Cops on the colors cause they know a nigga gang bang Red bandana round the rear-view "Where you say you from, Blood?" Niggas can't hear you Flag on the left side claiming you a Blood Blue rag on the right side calling niggas cuz Bout to get your mark ass chalked out on the West This for all my niggas in the pen beating on they chest like Said I need some pussy on my motherfucking wall And I ain't got my commissary yet I said the next motherfucker try to steal a cigarette He gon' get a fucking pencil to the neck That's on the set, I'm a trick top rap baller Homies know I shoot choppers, handguns and Tecs Not unless my niggas really get it popping Treetop niggas like the hoovers in Bompton Big booty psycho [?] [?] lil' wolf, TK, big back YZ [?] three, two strap Quisha and Miss Lisa, [?] we at It's the gang bang capital, 2 T's capital Enemies know the business, this shit is factual Papa Smalls hate it, but shoot out and fade it So my mama stay awake cause her son be gang banging You don't know 'bout the put ons and DPs Hanging out on the block coming through to squeeze Some outta town niggas disrespect I see why Suge Knight [?] (Can't forget about the Mexicans) And I fuck with the villains and the swans on God On God I got niggas from Denver Lane that'll ride I got esés that'll kill you at your job I got some looters by the weinerschnitzel Hanging out with the pistols, making sure shit official Big [?] and [?] both got stripes Both locked up for life, so if I ever hit the pen I got a squad, hell yeah I'm on that gangsta shit Nigga run up, knockout, he gon' think he's slick Hub in the dub, nigga don't even trip I get you chased by the grapes, nigga 300 crips My nigga Magic from Avalon Draws from neighbourhood Get your ass dope fiend, slipping in Hollywood Hop from 6-0, [?] from Santana Roc from [?] Blocc, we tied our bandanas And for my little nigga Frog I gotta stay active Blood in, Blood out, what's brackin' R.I.P OG TC Shoutout to my big homie Bomb from Athens Ridin' down Bentral 'bout to bust a right On Piru street and scoop this nigga Problem up, Blood What, green light and yeah it's go time Product out the fo', they can get it off in no time Oh my, did it on my own, no cosign 45, devil in disguise, free dope trial West side, ride [?] avenue Go at us, have your shirt wet, like lake havasu Pop pop diggity drop drop, hopped in a hotbox Smashed off, stashed the Glock, drop it off at the chop shop Boy, dollars only thing make sense Fo' to the duece, rest in peace 4 Bent How you gon bang if you really ain't from LA We spray your gang up on the wall Tell me And how you gon [?] if you really don't know the dance I see you really don't bang at all
Writer(s): James Taylor, Ronald Bell Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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