Game On Lock Lyrics

(feat. K-Doe)

[Talking]
Ahhh, You now rockin' with the best (uh huh)
Ice Ice Ice (Icewood) let me clear my throat, Icewood!!!

[Verse 1: Blade Icewood]
I got the game on lock ya'll know my name
since the last time I dropped a whole lot done changed
I'm fresh up out the gutter man, the doors go up now
the hoes use to hate me, now they love my style
In New York they love my country slang
I'm from Detroit where niggas get rich off cane
don't be fooled, yeah I rap, but I'll bust your brain
Stomp your ass with these Icewood kicks.
Now I done, Stuck ya bitch niggas can't tell me shit
Louie straight out the cup your bitch all on my dick
she can't keep her eyes off my neck and wrist
I don't blame her she probably never seen no shit like this
you better get her, 'cause I love me a bitch that's thick
and I know she would love to get fucked in the six
If she a smoker, she probably love this Purple shit
Now she in the Trans, turn the sounds up so she can do my dance

[Hook x2]
We got the Game on Lock, Heat stay cocked
We got that work and we'll flood your block
We keep it crackin' over here baby, yeah
We keep it crackin' over here baby

[Verse 2: K-Doe]
It ain't hard to tell, shit I know you know by now
Dirty Glove run the town, rap, bricks, or pounds
Keep the strap real close, who say I'm doing the most
caught two heater cases still ride with the toast
but hey, I'm living in the Dirty D
and they really wanna get you when they nineteen a key, see
You ain't even on my level
when my voice hit the track niggas turning up the treble
son of a rebel, scoop work with a shovel
try to tell 'em, don't get slick you fuckin' with the devil
Yeah, and my mind ain't right, sometimes when I get bored
I just hop on a flight, get out of sight to a place where the bricks are white
And you don't gotta count it 'cause the cheese be right
If you knew what I knew
You probably get your shit together go and switch up your crew, yeah

[Hook x2]

[Verse 3: Blade Icewood]
I let my mag talk for me, my jag talk for me
my cash talk for me, yo, what up homie
talkin' that tough shit you really don't know me
these hating ass rap niggas so damn phony
I'm getting blowed in that seventy-two old
on spinning rims, word on the street I'm cold with the flow
gangsta, gangsta, I'll show you how to do it
rims, twenty two inch, gems, looking blueish
I know I sound arrogant, but dogg I'm so rich
Original Chedda Boys, dogg and we run shit
selling out the hood like Master P
went to Gary, cashed out on that three tone masterpiece
with yellow diamonds, fine diamonds
square diamonds, round diamonds, been down for a while but I'm still shining
tried to cop that Bentley Coupe with the suede lining
but it's a 6-0-8, same color rims out the gate

[Hook x2]

(Thanks to Brandon for these lyrics)