Music Video

Game Over - Scarface Feat. Too Short, Dr. Dre, Ice Cube
Watch {trackName} music video by {artistName}

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Scarface
Scarface
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Scarface
Scarface
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Dr. Dre
Dr. Dre
Producer

Lyrics

Better get it while the gettin' is good Get it while you can, man And stop hatin' me, fuckin' with my shit 'cuz I got more hustle than you Get yours, get yours baby I'm seeing millions, niggaz don't understand Know what? I'm makin' moves, puttin' cash behind plans to blow up Will he style like this everyday I parlay Sip Henne and Tanqueray stay in the mix like Alezay V.I.P., my shit parked valet On the prowl again to get honies familiar with the smile again Some try to assault Dre, it's still cavi I'm eatin' steak while they struggle to break the slave mentality I givin' livin' definition long as my hearts tickin' I fought and made the world listen Whatever fly Dr. Dre invented, turn on the box And let my son watch these studio clowns on 60 inches I push a rover, shit platinum before the sessions over Rap master with the Houston heat holder These playas best to get they shit in check I get my hustle on ain't no playin' with a full deck Lord please, murda my enemies (Yeah) Burn 'em at a thousand degrees And Lord please let me make mo cheese 'Cuz I ain't quite ready to leave (No) Lord please, murda my enemies (Yeah) Burn 'em at a thousand degrees And Lord please let me make mo cheese 'Cuz I ain't quite ready to leave (No) Buck the whole world, meant that, gotta stay strapped 'Cuz 99.9 a niggaz, carry they gats Super fist fightin' shit might come down to dyin' When the time comes down for the tryin' I got nine Reasons why niggaz shouldn't step in my face With the nonsense, 'cause I'm always heated and you can taste this Audi little something out the seams a my trousers With no hesitation I got a team to come clown ya I down ya, so let your people know what they face With the type of individual that'll bomb a sub-station Kaboom and everybody dies outside There ain't no escapin' the Reaper so don't try Go ahead, close ya eyes, who the next to step? Face down, hit, bleedin' on the steps a death Check yo self, you just been invaded by true soldiers December 31st, 96 (The game is over) Lord please, murda my enemies (Yeah) Burn 'em at a thousand degrees And Lord please let me make mo cheese 'Cuz I ain't quite ready to leave (No) Lord please, murda my enemies (Yeah) Burn 'em at a thousand degrees And Lord please let me make mo cheese 'Cuz I ain't quite ready to leave (No) (I've got all my life to live, plus with all my love to give) Smokin' weed I never trail, I lead Spendin' dough, tripped the cost of a ride Like it was pocket money, Gs But these are the things real playas do Talkin' shit is real things that the hatas do I'm namin' you, shit's thick, it's time to run for shelter I kept the word, things could happen to marks Like it was helter skelter Dear diary, I'm runnin' outta pages Fadin', in and out, takin' purple hazes The dazes, Revelations in the last stages Red skys institute, the silent horns playin' I'm prayin' with tears in my eyes 'Cuz I'm tryin to make it into eternal peace without dyin' But they eyein' my bank account with beams on my rover The killa failed to launch his attack (The game is over) Lord please, murda my enemies (Yeah) Burn 'em at a thousand degrees And Lord please let me make mo cheese 'Cuz I ain't quite ready to leave (No) Lord please, murda my enemies (Yeah) Burn 'em at a thousand degrees And Lord please let me make mo cheese 'Cuz I ain't quite ready to leave (No)
Writer(s): O'shea Jackson, Brad Jordan, Andre Romell Young, Richard S. Vick Iii Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
instagramSharePathic_arrow_out