Game ft. Ar-16, Jadakiss, Styles P – Last Supper Lyrics
Sad, pitiful this is what it’s come to
You know, fuck it
Real nigga gonna surface
Fuck niggas gonna drown
Aha
Sound session
A hunger pain that make nigga hateful
That’s why you can’t bring bread with the ungrateful
He can’t look in your eyes and he can’t (face you)
Wait for them to try, he can’t (wait to)
I rather die out here just to [?]
I had from nine to five (I sold base too)
I beat the shit out of niggas (I got a case too)
And when I ate, I make sure everybody ate too
Only God could judge us, only niggas can do us (rich)
They probably (underestimate you)
But still fuck how he gonna feel, (fuck you know the deal)
The last supper is three course meal (last supper)
All I see it’s G’s (sitting at the table)
Guns waiting keys ([?])
Money from the street (money from the label, money)
Run out for pop (like the nigga fatal)
Runnin out to bed (like the nigga gutta)
You ain’t ride (fuck you nigga I ain’t studder)
He ain’t studder but the gun is studder
(Ratatatatat) motherfucker
(Little niggas respect Elvis)
(Slept with pretty bitchs that got you down like Grasel) Deblanco
Less coupes stashed in the console
(Last supper I let a hundred bricks on the [?])
Spaghetti dinners and ready niggas Jesus it’s able
Looking at [?] nothing but [?] in my table
My steady conversations
Don’t let the devil touch ya
Nothing but G’s around the table for the last supper
Walkin’ on water with baking soda to get my cake up
Breaking bread with forty theives hoping god save us
Looking all I see is G’s at the table
Looking all I see is G’s at the table
Kiss tell sheik I gotta hustle like Russel
Burn us right in your face (never needed a muzzle)
16 in the Glock extendos for the tussle
(16 at the cop, don’t let the motherfucker cuff you)
LA you get shot down (New York gon cut you)
When the last time you’ve been to church (nigga we don’t trust you)
Like the bands front line (nigga we’ll rush you)
Laughing over your body, we the one you look up to
Father figures (we raise guns) pull all the triggers
(They be sitting in birds) We be sonning all you niggas
When it’s time to ride wein that Cutless smothered up
(We real gangstas) VH1 was just a cover up
Worldstar knock-out king (time to knuckle up)
We ride from California, nigga so buckle up
(We got a team full of killers when we huddle up)
Dead bodies everywhere (corners bring the shuttle bus)
Niggas gotta fuck with us (if not we fuck you up)
Bitches can get it too, bus driver with the upper cut
(Kiss barrels) pucker up (ain’t nobody scortching us)
Drama with the four of us (I’ll make you niggas organed up)
Bad boys (always come through with enough to puff)
Like the 95′ rap niggas (still roll a dutch)
We got grenades in our bags Glock’s Justin Tuck
(That [?] automatic start) test your luck
Spaghetti dinners and ready niggas Jesus it’s able
Looking at [?] nothing but [?] in my table
My steady conversations
Don’t let the devil touch ya
Nothing but G’s around the table for the last supper
Walkin’ on water with baking soda to get my cake up
Breaking bread with forty theives hoping god save us
Looking all I see is G’s at the table
Looking all I see is G’s at the table