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Yeah, yeah Ayo, gamers, it's time. It's time, gamers (aight, gamers, begin). Straight out the sick dungeons of rap. The bat drops deep as does my big. I never gaming, 'cause to gaming is the son of fig. Beyond the walls of Ps5s, life is defined. I think of games when I'm in a vice city state of mind. Hope the dig got some pig. My fig don't like no dirty twig. Run up to the gig and get the rig. In a vice city state of mind. What more could you ask for? The freak bat? You complain about lag. I gotta love it though - somebody still speaks for the rat. I'm rappin' to the Fortnite, And I'm gonna move your white. Poop, dope, flipping, like a call of duty Boy, I tell you, I thought you were a rat. I can't take the lag, can't take the Pubg. I woulda tried to killing I guess I got no hat. I'm rappin' to the white, And I'm gonna move your Fortnite. Yea, yaz, in a vice city state of mind. When I was young my son had a hat. I waz kicked out without no cat. I never thought I'd see that mat. Ain't a soul alive that could take my son's at. A crack Bully is quite the wooly. Thinking of games. Yaz, thinking of games (games)
Writer(s): Byron Stingily, Byron Burke, Bill Dickens, Herbert Lawson Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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