[Lyrics] The Game- The Funeral 100 Barz, G-Unit diss

I'm Back....
Haha! Ni**az can't f**k with me man....
Ni**az is crazy, dogg. I run this underground rap s**t, and the mainstream ni**a!
I'ma do like Boo-Boo...
Diss ni**az right when they f**king album come out... and kill 'em!
Hit a breakdown, time to separate the men from the boys,
Take it straight to the bank, call it Christopher Lloyd,
Call it momma's little boy, or 50's little b**ch,
The Rotten Apple or the protégé of a snitch,
The protégé of a b**ch, ni**a softer than a Tapo Kick (?)
You Billy Blanks on them porno flicks
With no porno chicks, only porno dicks
You Taladamore (?) whore with them g-string drawers
And so therefore, I declare war,
Outside violator, meat meat air-four (?)
Young Buck stay back, Banks put this autograph
Or a (..........) glove on and let's play catch
(Gunshot) That's for your one platinum plaque
(Gunshot) That's for the ni**as riding in the back
(Gunshot) Tryna reach for the s**t on your lap
(Gunshot) That's for your boss sayin' he write my raps (Gunshot)
I'ma killa, Blackwall Gorilla, That palm-box sealer, G-Unit cap peeler,
I'm realer, 40 oz. spiller, 40 glock killer, 40 GLOCC KILLER!
Ask Spider, I be creepin’ and crawlin’, spinning webs around you ni**as,
Stacking bread around you ni**as.
Every time you roll up, the feds around you ni**as,
I used to watch everything I said around you ni**as.
Twenty ni**as on the squad, that's twenty ni**as in the can.
That's twenty witnesses, twenty ni**as on the stand,
God damn, can someone tell them the street cold,
The Game is to be sold, but not to be told
They say Dre and Suge goin' beans and Hov (?)
This is one bullet, one head, and one lost soul.
Wipe my fingerprints off, and the gun is tossed in with the fishes
Like you and Juice, I'm coming for Bishop, I'm gunning for Bishop,
I'm the king of this L.A. s**t,
Tell me homie, is you Blood or Crip? Is you thug or b**ch?
Cos the ese's say,
They don't never see holmes running round L.A..
Fake a** ghostwriter, get your lil' flow tighter
'For I put you in the trunk of this f**king low-rider.
Ni**a you ain't nuttin' but Hittman in quicksand,
Got a deal cos you s**k a couple dicks, and
Turned your back on Delany (?) and Jimmy Henchman,
Just take this as a warning, don't flinch, man.
Wear your rage, you from 1-9-0? No!
You know Pap, do you bang east coast? No!
Have you ever hopped 1-6-0? No!
Do the hood feel your wackass flow? No!
So sit your lil' a** down somewhere,
'For I have them ni**as sit yo' a** down somewhere,
In the ground somewhere, outta town somewhere,
Breakin news, body found somewhere,
Now back to the video, look at these silly muh'fuckers,
Y'all some silly muh'fuckers; "I say Hands Up,
Shorty wanna kick it with me"
Get that wack s**t of BET,
Turn the channel, all black Lambo,
Red and black flannel, speakers in the trunk,
with more humps then a camel,
Man, I'm sayin, I ain't playin, I'm sprayin',
Any ni**a in your clique that ever wrote (?) that s**t
(Gunshot) Muh'fucker, that's for Yayo and Buck
(Gunshot) That's for Hot Rod promotional truck
(Gunshot) That's for Kanye, and beefin' with Puff
(Gunshot) Tell the ni**a that's behind you, Duck!
I'ma killa, Blackwall Gorilla,
Any cliff feeler (?), Mobb Deep cap peeler.
I'm realer, the hollow-tip driller,
The rap Godzilla, the Lloyd Banks killer!
In the diablo, under the tent,
Ni**a I'm about a dollar, who the f**k is 50 Cent?
When Jay said it, I didn't know what it meant,
Now I understand, it's starting to make sense.
Now the whole world know why I took the 'I' out of G-Unit,
And replaced it with a mother f**king 'O'
Remember when you told me "Meet you on the top" ni**a?
Check the sounscan, guess who on top, ni**a!
Fake-a** king of New York, you need to stop, ni**a,
Cos you not Big, not Nas, not Jigga,
Take your steroids, show me what you got, ni**a!
You ain't had a b**ch since Vivica Fox, ni**a,
Last I heard you s**k on cocks, ni**a,
They don't know cos they don't see you on the blocks, ni**a
Cos you bee in the pre-sync with the cops, ni**a
You're whole staff, with a badge and a glock ni**a
Mid-town Manhattan, tryna stop ni**as,
On the subway, chasing down shop-lifters,
All in the streets, talkin 'bout you shot ni**as,
Then you went in New York Times, takin cop pictures,
I exposed you ni**as and put out Stop Snitchin',
When the last time you seen 'em with some hot bitches?
See what he say when you ask him, "Where the hot bitches?"
Check the Adam's Apple, ni**a them is not bitches,
You're reign on the top was shorter than the legs of a leprechaun,
Just bow down ni**a, accpet the Don,
Nobody wanna be here but when the Tech is strong,
Their transformers be folding up like (...........),
Ni**as bust like pipes when the pressure on,
See that light flash when the desert eagle at yuor dome,
Every rapper know from now, I'ma set the tone,
Ni**as real hard body 'til they head is gone,
Here comin' demons, cos they know that you dead and gone,
Some ni**as just don't get it 'til you at the throne.
Ni**as can't f**k with me ni**a!
100 Bars, ni**a! I do 100 bars every muh'f**king day of the weak, ni**a!
That's 700 bars a weak, ni**a! On this f**king underground rap s**t, ni**a.
Look, I can't be f**king stopped. Period, ni**a.
The Game, ni**a. West Coast Don. Blackwall Street, ni**a.
I'm ready to get down when you ready to get down, motherf**kers!
I can't be faded, ni**a. Ni**as don't want it with me, ni**a.
It's just me, mutherfuckers!
And I'm pissed off.
Got me all on the front of the muh'f**king mixtape.
In a f**king stripper outfit, ni**a, with some g-strings on.
That ain't me, motherf**kers! This is me, motherf**kers!
Yeah! Doctor's Advocate, in store November 7th.
Cop it when I drop it, ni**a.
G-G-G-G-G
G-G-G-G-G-G-Unot!
G-Unit is now officialy over. You can mail back your CD's, apparel, headbands, G-Unit spinner replicas and G-Unit shoes to 1548 South Ardmore Drive, Los Angeles, California, 90743. Thank you, have a nice day.

thanks ma poule pour la lyric!!!!!!