Texty:
End Of Fashion The Game

game again I need to play the game again Got an illusion, I wanted to say There's something wrong here A lot to take, I need to play the game again

To go back to a place much simpler than this 'Cause after all the partyin' and cashin' and crashin' And all the glitz and the glam and the fashion And

keep it real But, they don't know how to take they own advisement Going out, do it solo on an advertisement, commercializing Fuckin' sell out, nigga, this is hip-hop, not fashion

, didn't use your real name Booked a hotel room, suite paid until June Get home and tell wifey that you're not in the mood But then the game got stale

I rake em, roll em, like smoke from Peter Ross Then I hold em, stole em, work hard to be the boss My fashion is Kumb-a-i, or else I'm attackin' Dukes

Yeah, yeah I'm a spit some of this real game Some real shit, some real talk Na, na, whoa, oh, whoa Ugh, check my watch, check my chain It's simple and

pop, this is Hip-Hop In the harm way, we do it the war way, all day I never procrastinate (You shouldn't) I'm from where the war games fascinate (You

my thumb Silly little bitches can end up right up in ditches We cut you and give you stitches, for envy and all my riches Your game's just like a midget

Scan from the Killa Klan Kaze I will dump your bodyparts into my trunk Let's go ride then play a game what's the game, the game of names Now which, which