"Change The Game" lyrics

Ugh, ugh, ugh, let's go!
Ugh, bounce
Ugh, bounce
Ugh, bounce
Ugh

Shit, relax your mind, let your conscience be free
You're now rolling with them thugs from the R-O-C
Sigel-Sigel in the house! Uh-huh, sick bastard (Yeah)
Get your wig pushed back by the wig push-backer (Ugh, ugh)
Memph' Bleek in the house! Still here, never left (Ugh, ugh)
Still bust, more or less, still puff, bitch! (Ugh, ugh)
Young Hova in the house—Jigga! (Yeah)
Cris' sipper, six-dipper, wrist-glitter, nigga!

Hold up, love
Every time you see Jiggaman, I'm rolling on dubs
Don't forget about them blades, shit, chopping it up
It's the motherfucking Roc, bitch, who hotter than us?
Jay-Hov, 'bout to change my name to Jay Peso
But in the meantime, call me William H., though
On the platinum Yamaha, got the engine gunning
Throwing it up like liquor on an empty stomach
Y'all don't hear nothing?
Who that, Mack? Naw, dawg, that's M. Bleek coming

Who the fuck! Want! What?!
Catch Bleek in South Beach out of the reach of the police
Gat on my lap (Yeah), bitch on my back (Holler)
'Gnac in my pocket, smoking that sticky chocolate (Ooh-wee!)
Holler if you want drama with
The Dynasty; Amil, Bleek, Jigga, and

Sigel—Desert Eagle, dawg, who else but me?
Roc Airs, Roc-Wears, bandannas and white tees
Me without a gun, dawg? Unlikely
You know I keep the heat right under the wife-beat'
Three-X tee, I'm Lincoln now, you can't see the pound
Got a little gut, so the gat sit tucked (Fuck...)
I run wild, gun high, L.A. style
Bang the Roscoe 'til the sunrise; plus, I stay dumb high
Whether block shit or rock shit
Club shit or drug shit, I pop shit—I got shit
Get Sig' any track, I'ma spit the talk to it
Down South gon' bounce; Crips gon' walk to it
Get a ounce, get a woods, everybody spark to it
Every dawg, every Blood in the hood, bark to it
Get the ounce, get the 'woods, everybody spark to it
We can smoke in here, put the choke in the air (Yeah)

(Don't change the game for these hoes)
(Who plays the game like we supposed)
Sigel-Sigel in the house! Uh-huh, sick bastard (Yeah)
Get your wig pushed back by the wig push-backer (Ugh, ugh)
(Don't change the game for these hoes)
(Who plays the game like we supposed)
Memph' Bleek in the house! Still here, never left
Still bust, more or less, still puff, bitch!
(Don't change the game for these hoes)
(Who plays the game like we supposed)
Young Hova in the house—Jigga!
Cris' sipper, six-dipper, wrist-glitter, nigga! (Yeah)

I wear more bling to The Source and Soul Trains
More chains than rings, niggas won't do a thing
I bangs the four-four in plain daylight; I'm deranged
Spray right at your brain; by the way, this is Hov
One-shot Dillinger, one shot killing you
It's only one Roc La Familia
Sigel lock Philly up, Brooklyn is me
Matter-fact, the East Coast—fuck took it from me?
Fourth album, still Jay, still spitting that real shit
Volume 3, still sold more records than Will Smith
Can't call this a comeback, I run rap, the fuck is y'all saying?
Five million? I done that, and I've come back
To do it again! (Uh-huh)
Ex-sinner, Grammy-Award winner
Balling repeatedly, highlights on SportsCenter
Please repeat after me—it's only one rule:
I will not lose!