Pregame

Lyrics

[Intro: Sauce Money] Sauce Money, yo, yeah-yeah Sauce Money, yo You know the dril Chilling with my mans, Marley Marl, Pete Rock Future Flavas MCA style, man Cut the check or suck a dick [Verse 1: Sauce Money] I lay my gun fine, ideas be as bright as the sunshine Shook the rap game with just one line When me and my niggas combine, all day, you know what? Sometimes, I run with mad niggas who done time Hit you with eight, from one nine, now you showin' the vein My shells is like information, go in your brain Holdin' my slug, before you squeeze 'em, show 'em the love Burn your fingertips so throw 'em a glove, understand me Before my album drop, copped a Grammy, uncanny Bought my first Rollie from Manny Dirty burners, my crew never hand me; nigga we family You not, get shot, get caught sniffin' like Dexter Manley With least ten lead, spray right, paint your skin red Damn, we all the shit you can't be We big-time, you small-time, real small, like how an ant be Marcy, bust a shot for Metcalf, Tilo, and Danny (Bop!) Peace to the Burrells, Cut Wop and Stanley (Geah!) Boom, Moët and bow, my whole set is wild (wild) Past threats, frontin' flash singles and ass bets Fuck a bitch, you know the drill Cut a check or suck a dick (What the fuck...) [Verse 2: Jay-Z] As a youth explosively, clappin' off the roof Shootin' guard like Kobe, raised up slay smears and bo'e Back then, Gil was my co-d Spanish Jose showed me how to get the money niggas owed me Fast-forward: No kids, six cars, and three Rollies Two cribs, trips to Cuba, sippin' on Ooba Got rap in a stupor, first to clap your group up From the Range with the ski rack, or six with the roof up Shit, I light the motherfuckin' soundproof booth up New shit, y'all say the same shit like you're looped up Your raps all lazy, Jigga the Black Scorsese What your album lack is more Jay-Z Code name: Jay-Hova—all praise me Y'all don't paint pictures, you all trace me You've yet to see the day when my squad be done I represent that shit, nigga—Marcy son, what! [Verse 3: Sauce Money] I grab my dick in front of your bitch, screaming, "Fuck your spot!" Heatmiser, anything I ever touch was hot Sauce watching all you wildcats flop, sound greasy One sound on your whole CD, making my job easy Figured as much though, got your hustle swingin' Cop a muzzle, and then y'all got the nerve to drop a double? Everybody ain't Big, nigga Everybody can't flow like Jig, nigga; bitch niggas, listen— No sorrow tomorrow if you swallow hollow-points Like a dread in the weed spot, I'ma move some joints I ain't playing, these BK slugs sprayin' Mute niggas could tell you how nice I am—it goes without saying Malicious, rap flow vicious, stack dough Bitches sucking dicks say, "Fat boy delicious" Pretentious niggas get it in slow-mo Kodak couldn't picture that So X-ray machines taking your team photo Niggas switching like a homo, shit on your team Fuck how they feel, get all that cream Here comes the drama, here's the drummer, they call your number And now your fun-filled summer filled with bounty hunters If a bitch fuck you for free, cats will kill you for the same fee Think niggas give a fuck what your name be? Or your raw crew? Kid, you're all saw-through Mad 'cause you ain't blow yet Never fret, nigga—your bitch blew for you Get on some Prince shit like, "I truly adore you" Never, crab cat, fuck you—have that Sauce Mother-F-U tricks all in the mix 300 large on my flat, up in the sticks Nuthin' but a lot of leg room, my son and my bitch Getting fatter off salmon, croquettes, and grits Peace to all my niggas in Marcy, Viya Schmidt and Bits L-channel, Henny and crime, nigga, which— One of y'all in the mirror lookin' facing them 8's? One in your helmet might induce a case of the shakes B-Scott, what the deal son? Reno, where the 'dro at? Sauce Money... You know that, nigga