Newsletter

Subscribe to The State of Hip Hop E-Zine FREE and get all the latest accurate rap lyrics from the game's best emcees!

Common- The Game Lyrics

Common Sense – The Game
{Chorus}

[Common Sense]
Raise my game
a nigga ain't phased by fame
come to the crib get banged
they take ya chain
stay in a ya lane
brokeback ain't the way of the game
my brainstorm is like I stay in the rain
my favorite was Kane
now I'm dope with weight in the game
you was hot but can't stay in the flame
ghetto pain and windows crack
the fist is like a symbol for black
can tell the real by how the real interact
in the middle of wack
my soul sticks to a track
kick back records get kicked to the back
I want big cribs and my man Ronnie to get his
child in a good school to know what her gift is
it's global warming, the world is shifting
watchin' Sweet Sixteen, fuckin' rich kids
don't know in life, you got to go the distance
whether yoga or doja we all get lifted
in the game!

{Chorus}

[Common Sense]
I never kiss the ass of the masses
I'm the black molasses
thick and I lasted past these wack bastards
they tried to box me in like Cassius
Clay, hey - I'm like Muhammad when he fasted
opposing the Fascists, make cuts and got gashes
scratches over third eye lashes
punchlines are like jab hits to rappers who's careers are now ashes
its too many slashes in his name
came in the game as gun clappers
from weak rhymes to clothing lines to an actress
I seen 'em smash and dash hits
yell "Run nigga, run"; while I cook up classics
the weak minded become Babylon puppets
makin' it hard for real hustlers
touch the sky now and then with a lady friend
give thanks to the Most High that's how the day begin
in the game

[Common Sense]
I just wanna 'Bee' like Akila
an achiever, from the streets of the Chi
where some get high for leisure
sellin' weed outta cleaners
from rocks to barbershops and beamers
chicks with blonde weaves and strong legs like Serena
the demeanor of the ghetto to never stay settled
our demand and corrupt mans play Pharaoh
good bring business to the hood like heralds
five year olds, walkin' by theyselfs in the street
the young die of cancer, I stopped eatin' meat
greet the gods on 87th street like "Peace"
even though this war today got 'em facin' the east
the game ain't chasin' the sweet
cats flow is stale and they complacent with beats
my radio station is deep, so eff 'em
progression, countin' paper and blessings
it's the game!

{Chorus}