The Game – L.A. Leakers Freestyle #147 (Lyrics, Video)

The Game spits over an unheard Hit-Boy beat for Justin Credible, DJ Sourmilk on the 147th episode of Power 106 Los Angeles’ LA Leakers Freestyle. Watch the video and read the lyrics.

The Game L.a. Leakers Freestyle #147

Ahead of the rescheduled August 12th release date for The Game’s Drillmatic album, He stops over to Power 106 where he laid down bars for his L.A. Leakers freestyle over a previously unheard Hit-Boy beat for Justin Credible and DJ Sourmilk.

The Game name-dropped several of his contemporaries, from Kendrick Lamar and J. Cole to Kanye West and Dr. Dre. “Ain’t no competition, so Kendrick went to Africa / Ain’t no competition Cole went and got his baskets up,” he rapped early on in the video.

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Lyrics

[Intro: The Game]
Hey, yeah
Hey, it’s a Hit-Boy beat, man, look
Check it out
Balenciaga shades and all

[Verse: The Game]
Y’all niggas got me fucked up
Niggas must think I’m Lloyd Banks or Young Buck
Don’t press your dumb luck, I got my gun tucked
‘Cause I don’t like how niggas did Nip’
I guess it’s time to show these niggas what it is, Hit
Lyrically, miracly, spiritually here in the flesh
How I’m not top 5? Niggas appear to be deaf
So I throw up gang signs, you understand me now?
Keep sleeping, I’ll put you where you can’t be found
Where you can rest eternally and you can’t hear sound
And your oldest son the head of your family now
Fuck ’em, ’cause we headed to Miami now
And it’s a Hit-Boy beat, fuck a hand-me-down
No more freestyling over other nigga shit
I’m on some bigger shit
Hit make the beat, then I get on some Jigga shit
‘Cause when I hit a rock, I’m getting involved
If I gotta get a rock chain from the middle of the mall
Nigga put a diamond tester to it, he gettin’ hurt
If a bitch ass, I told him, Soulja boy did it first
Yeah, I’m back in business
And this time I’m not leavin’ till the crack diminished
Till the fentanyl dry and the veins don’t stick out
And the nigga Questlove take the afro pick out
Back to my roots, freestyling to these black thoughts
Black Balenciaga, Adidas, gassin’ up the Trackhawk
Or I’m out in Paris snatching bitches off the catwalk
And when I kill a pussy, I don’t even let the cat talk
Underground, underdog, sword to the asphalt
I stepped to all the dope niggas, they never seen crackwalk
Ain’t no competition so Kendrick went to Africa
Ain’t no competition, Cole went and got his baskets up
But I’m here masking up, with the masking tape
Fiends knockin’ on the door, we closed, don’t ask for yay
You see a Aftermath chain? Then don’t ask for Dre
I’m a legend now, fuck when I pass away
Can’t put the effin’ down, up, then I blast away
Break his legs, stuff his shoulders in, no casket space
Nah, I’m lying, it’s just my rap alter ego
The DA listenin’, tryin’ to hit a thug with the RICO
Know I be with gunners, know I keep the heat close
You can’t relate ’cause you ain’t seen what I’ve seen in that peephole
So, dig a sinkhole, throw every nigga that rap in it
‘Cause ever since they killed Pop Smoke, there’d been a gap in it
Throw all that cap in it, lying about the trap in it
Throw all these pussy niggas beefin’ on this, absented
And I’m abstinent, givin’ no fucks, nigga
It’s all love, like I’m sittin’ here with Puff, nigga
You can hate me now
But I won’t stop now
I am the nigga they never mention in their hip-hop conventions
Know why? ‘Cause I remind them of the trenches
So I must be Candyman of the era
Niggas won’t say my name in the song or the mirror
‘Cause I reflect on my past and my mishaps
My right hand still where my dick at
Middle finger up, flick that
Tell my new bitch, “Sniff that”
That’s your best friend, I broke her off like a KitKat
Where the bricks at, nah, we ain’t sellin’ those
And I still fuck with Ye, but we sellin’ clothes
You niggas sellin’ dreams, I wake you up to a nightmare
Like me, Freddy, Jason and Michael Myers right there
There’s new niggas runnin’ ’round like this is su casa
Call yourself Simba? You learn from Mufasa
And I understand you think you nice and you tryin’ things
But if you say you better than me, then you the lying King
Ask about me, don’t clash or doubt me
I make your favorite rapper come pick up trash around me
Used to walk around New York, red rag around me
That was my DMX, dog tag around me
Never keep it twisted ’cause I keep a bag around me
I still jack rappers if they brag around me
Keep it private, everything first class around me
Like a Backwood, opps don’t last around me
Lemon on the head of the drum, we make lemonade
One gun, plastic slug, then it disintegrate
Disappeared into the crowd like I’m in a rave
And go missin’ like the crack when I’m in a raid
I do dirt like I’m in the grave, and fuck this rap shit
This ain’t even how I’m gettin’ paid
One, two, attention to the center stage
Fuck you, I’m back to my killin’ ways
Three, four, niggas with me, then they prolly strapped
Shoe turnin’ backwards like Just’ LA Dodger Hat
Trigger finger twitching, bullets spin ’em like a laundromat
Like an Internet laggin’, killin’ where they spawn ’em at
I’m bad for your health, you’re scared to die, hypochondriac?
Pussy nigga gets an itch, hit him with the Monistat
‘Cause once we goin’ in, it ain’t no fallin’ back
And if that Draco on my lap, you know I’m in that Donda black
Ah, extra clip with a bomb at might as well kill him if I’ma end up with Jeffrey Dahmer, that’s crazy
‘Cause last night I was with Madonna with some supermodels, asking Hit where the condoms at
Shit, I gotta stay protected
This LA, they take your life before they take your necklace
Take the gun apart, spread the pieces, make the exit
Take the clothes off, burn ’em, then they make the exit
Look around this motherfucker, it’s like we’re still in the ’80s
Everybody with the shit, it’s like a billion DaBaby’s
I’ve been drilling for this feelin’, my adrenaline’s satan
I’m the black Slim Shady, I’ve been killin’ ’em lately

[Outro: The Game & Justin Credible]
Get these niggas the fuck outta here, man
Drillmatic, August 12th, man
We ain’t come to play no games, man
Fuck all that (Game is here)
Nah, Game was here, I’m out