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Verse 1 |
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This is it, dope from the fly kid |
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The ice mic is back with the high bid |
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Suckers you've lost cos players you're not, gangstas you ain't |
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You're faintin', punk, if you ever heard a gunshot |
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Yo, the pusher, the player, the pimp gangsta, the hustler |
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High roller, dead pres folder |
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Is cold lampin' like a black king on a throne |
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Evil e...turn up the microphone |
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So i can ill and break on the rollin' tape |
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Another album to make? great |
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Islam turn the bass kick up a bit |
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Hype the snare, now i got a place to sit |
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And ride the track like a black mack in his 'lac |
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Hit the corner slow where the girls are at |
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And kick game the way it should be done |
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How you gonna drop science? you're dumb |
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Stupid ignorant, don't even talk to me |
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At school you dropped math, science and history |
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And then you get on the mic and try to act smart |
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Well let me tell you one thing, you got heart |
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To perpetrate, you're bait, so just wait |
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Till the press shove a mic in your face |
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Or you meet boogie down or chuck d |
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Stetsasonic or the big daddy |
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And they ask you about the game you claim you got |
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Drop science now, why not? |
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You start to sweat and fret, it gets hot |
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How'd you get into this spot? |
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You played yourself... |
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Yo, yo, you played yourself... |
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Verse 2 |
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I'm no authority but i know the d-e-a-l |
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When it comes to dealin' with the females |
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What you got they want, cash is what they need |
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Slip sucker and they'll break you with speed |
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But you meet a freak, you try to turn her out |
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Spendin' money's what i'm talkin' about |
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But you fool out, your pockets got blew out |
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And after the date, no boots, you got threw out |
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Mad and shook cos your duckets got took |
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Call her up, phone's off the hook |
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But who told you to front and flaunt your grip? |
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You can't buy no relationship |
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You played yourself... |
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Yo, homeboy, you played yourself... |
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Verse 3 |
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I'm in the mc game, a lot of mc's front |
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And for the money they're sell out stunts |
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But they claim that they're rich and that they keep cash |
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Yo, let me straighten this out fast |
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Two hundred thousand records sold |
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And these brothers start yellin' 'bout gold? |
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You better double that, then double that again |
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And still don't get sooped, my friend |
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You think you've made it, you're just a lucky man |
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Guess who controls your destiny, fans |
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But you diss 'em cos you think you're a star |
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That attitude is rude, you won't get far |
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Cos they'll turn on you quick, you'll drop like a brick |
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Unemployment's where you'll sit |
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No friends cos you dissed 'em too |
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No money, no crew, you're through |
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You played yourself... |
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That's right, you played yourself... |
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You played yourself... |
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Yo, yo, you played yourself... |
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Verse 4 |
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You got problems, you claim you need a break |
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But every dollar you get you take |
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Straight to the dopeman, try to get a beam up |
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Your idle time is spent tryna scheme up |
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Another way to get money for a jumbo |
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When you go to sleep you count five-o's |
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Lyin' and cheatin', everybody you're beatin' |
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Dirty clothes and you're skinny cos you haven't been eatin' |
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You ripped off all your family and your friends |
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Nowhere does your larceny end |
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And then you get an idea for a big move |
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An armed robbery...smooth |
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But everything went wrong, somebody got shot |
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You couldn't get away, the cops roll, you're popped |
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And now you're locked, yo, lampin' on death row |
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Society's fault? no |
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Nobody put the crack into the pipe |
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Nobody made you smoke off your life |
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You thought that you could do dope and still stay cool? fool. |
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You played yourself... |
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You played yourself... |
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Ain't nobody else's fault, you played yourself. |
