The Game – Up On the Wall Lyrics

The Game – Up On the Wall Lyrics

Up On the Wall Lyrics by The Game

[Produced by DJ Battlecat]

[Verse 1: The Game]
Old pussy ass mark, bitch ass buster
Think you from LA cause you listen to some Mustard
This is Battlecat, my nigga Kurupt had the battle raps
We go back like four flats on the Cadillac
Nigga you ain’t never been to a hood day
You don’t know Ice Cube, today was a good day
You ain’t never been dropped off in the jungles
Teared Khakis, red bandana wrapped around your knuckles
Me and my brother used to dip down in ‘Shaw
Stopped at the Wiener Schnitzel, got socked in the jaw
By some sixties, I bombed back, the nigga pulled out
A strap, said it’s 6-0, I ducked then he missed me
Now I’m back to Bompton
Before I hit the hood, a nigga gotta stop in the Swans
And pick up a sack, had fifty for an eighth
And I only had fifty, made it last all day
Smoking with the homies, my nigga G Weed from Nellaz
My nigga Hooter from Athens Park stay brackin’
Fo’ line, deuce line, Bray still active
And the Cedars ain’t giving no passes, why we asking?

[Chorus: Ty Dolla $ign]
How you gon bang if you really ain’t from LA
We spray your gang up on the wall
Tell me
And how you gon’ fade if you really don’t know the dance
I see you really don’t bang at all
Mark-ass

[Verse 2: The Game]
Murder was the case that they gave Game
Cops on the cutlass cause they know a nigga gang bang
Red bandana round the rear-view
“Where you say you from, Blood?” Niggas can’t hear you
Flag on the left side claiming you a Blood
Blue rag on the right side calling niggas cuz
Bout to get your mark ass chalked out on the West
This for all my niggas in the pen beating on they chest like

[Interlude: The Game]
I said I need some pussy on my motherfucking wall
And I ain’t got my commissary yet
I said the next motherfucker try to steal a cigarette
He gon’ get a fucking pencil to the neck

[Verse 3: YG]
That’s on the set
Ooh, I’m a Tree Top rep, all the
Homies know is shoot choppers, handguns and Tecs
Not unless my niggas really get it popping
Tree Top niggas like the Hoovers in Bompton
Big Budda, Syke o, Slim 4, Lil Wack
Q-Ball, Lil’ Wolf, TK, big back
YZ four, three, two strap
Quisha and Miss Lisa, house, where we at
It’s the gang bang capital, 2 T’s capitals
Enemies know the business, this shit is factual
Bompton’s most hated, fuck it, shoot out and fade it
So my mama stay awake cause her son be gang banging
You don’t know about the put ons and DPs
Hanging out on the block (coming through to squeeze)
Some outta town niggas disrespecting
I see why Suge Knight and Big U was arrested
(Can’t forget about the Mexicans)
And I fuck with the villains and the swans on God

[Verse 4: The Game]
On God
I got niggas from Denver Lane that’ll ride
I got esés that’ll kill you at your job
I got some lueders by the Wiener Schnitzel
Hanging out with the pistols, making sure shit official
Big Who’s and Day both got stripes
Both locked up for life, so if I ever hit the pen
I got a squad, hell yeah I’m on that gangsta shit
Nigga run up, knockout, he gon’ think he’s slick
Hub in the dub, nigga don’t even trip
I get you chased by the grapes, nigga 300 crips
My nigga Magic from Avalon, Draws from neighbourhood
Get your ass dope fiends slipping in Hollywood
Hop from 6-0, Girch from Santana
Roc from Nutty Blocc, we tied our bandanas
And for my little nigga Frogg I gotta stay active
Blood in, Blood out, what’s brackin’?

[Interlude 2]
R.I.P OG TC
Shoutout to my big homie Bone from Athens
Ridin’ down Bentral ’bout to bust a right
On Piru street and scoop this nigga Problem up, Blood

[Verse 5: Problem]
What, green light and yeah it’s go time
Product out the fo’, they can get it off in no time
Oh my, did it on my own, no cosign
45, devil in disguise, free dope trial
West side, ride ’em off 3rd avenue
Go at us, have your shirt wet as Lake Havasu
Pop pop diggity drop drop, hopped in a hotbox
Smashed off, stashed the Glock, drop it off at the chop shop
Boy, dollars only thing make sense
Fo’ to the duece, rest in peace 4 Bent
What

[Chorus: Ty Dolla $ign]
How you gon bang if you really ain’t from LA
We spray your gang up on the wall
Tell me
And how you gon’ fade if you really don’t know the dance
I see you really don’t bang at all
Mark-ass