True To The Game lyrics

by

George Clinton


[Intro]
Ayy
Yeah, you, motherf*cker
You know who I'm talking to
Yeah, you that motherf*cker that betrayed your homeboys and you ain't sh*t
Yeah, you about to get your motherf*cking ghetto pass revoked, motherf*cker
Punk-ass mark, b*tch-made
Punk-ass trick in a basket
Caught up in the mix

[Verse 1]
It's the n*gga you love to hate with a new song
So what really goes on?
Nothing but a come-up, but ain't that a b*tch?
They hate to see a young n*gga rich
But I refuse to switch even though
'Cause I can't move to the snow
'Cause soon as y'all get some dough
You wanna put a white b*tch on your elbow
Moving out your neighborhood
But I walk through the ghetto and the flavor's good
Little kids jumping on me
But you, you wanna be white and corny
Living way out
"n*gga, go home" spray-painted on your house
Trying to be white or a Jew
But ask yourself, who are they to be equal to?
Get the hell out
Stop being an Uncle Tom, you little sell-out
House n*gga sc*m
Give something back to the place where you made it from
Before you end up broke
f*ck around and get your ghetto pass revoked
I ain't saying no names
You know who you are, you little punk, be true to the game
[Interlude]
Yeah, motherf*cker
Yeah, you thought we forgot, huh?
Yeah, get a little money and moved out the neighborhood and sh*t
But you still ain't sh*t

[Verse 2]
When you first start rhyming
It started off slow and then you start climbing
But it wasn't fast enough, I guess
So you gave your other style a test
You was hardcore hip-hop
Now look at yourself, boy, you done flip-flopped
Giving our music away to the mainstream
Don't you know they ain't down with the team?
They just sent they boss over
Put a bug in your ear and now you crossed over
On MTV, but they don't care
They'll have a new n*gga next year
You're out in the cold
No more white fans and no more soul
And you might have a heart attack
When you find out the black folks don't want you back
And you know what's worse?
You was just like the n*gga in the first verse
Stop sellin' out your race
And wipe that stupid-ass smile off your face
n*ggas always gotta show they teeth
Now I'ma be brief, be true to the game
[Interlude]
Yeah, motherf*cker, I see you got your fancy cars and sh*t
But you know what? You still ain't sh*t
That's right, I caught you slipping
You know I could've gat you, yeah, but I didn't even trip

[Verse 3]
A message to the Oreo cookie
Find a mirror and take a look, G
Do you like what you see?
But you're quick to point the finger at me
You wanna be the big fish, you little guppy
Black man can't be no yuppie
You put on your suit and tie and your big clothes
You don't associate with the Negroes
You wanna be just like Jack
But Jack is calling you a n*gga behind your back
So back off, genius
I don't need you to correct my broken English
You know that's right
You ain't white
So stop holding your ass tight
'Cause you can't pass
So why you keep trying to pass?
With your black ass
Mister Big
But in reality, you're shorter than a midge
You only got yourself to blame
Get a grip, Oreo, and be true to the game
[Outro: Ice Cube & Leesa Gibbons]
Uh, yeah
Uh, yeah
Ha-ha
And Ice Cube practices what he preaches
He continues to live in South Central Los Angeles and he puts his money into projects that improve the neighborhood
Be true to the game
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