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Budden vs Game [ Diss Lyrics ]
Game:
Bitch *****s get put in the coffin ,wit all that psycopath talking, you listened to the source and i aint from boston. im gangbanging wearing g6's, call em how i see them these *****s is bitches, and clue put this ***** on a song, now hes gggg-unit and i came to get it on. you aint hot ***** you lukewarm, ill hogtie ya ass with gunit shoes on. you had pump it up, that was a cool song, you only sold ten records ***** now move on/ talking bout you got rachets and tools on, but you was at the all-star game wit no ***els on/ i cant believe i gave you that, wit the 45 on me i should have gave you that/ pistol whipped you, layed you flat/ jump off buddens nah a disgrace to a yankee hat / and its time to state my biz, the only ***** pushin rock in jersey is jason kidd/ you a phoney ***** ill erase your wig/ have you running to the church like mas done did/
You dont know me fool/ to diss me on dj clue/ i dont need no assistance, to dig you a ditch, and any problem i got i just put my clip in/ you fake like janets titty/ one call 300 bloods in atlantic city/ you a bad-boy then dance like diddy/ i give celebrity beat downs i bring the camera wit me/ on that mixtape shit you knew my man was 50/ and i keep some crome in the tanish dickies/ smoke ***** like a gram of sticky/ and i know my way to harlem ill take you to bransons with me/ come to compton youll vanish quickly/ i got *****s in the hood that will kill you for a can of mickys/ games in la we never die/ and we will let hollowtips fly at joe buddens/
I drive throught the desert storm, kick up dust/ red and blue rags hangin outta pickup trucks/ get banks on the phone ***** hit young buck/ tell em we got a problem with this dumb fuck/ you was just in the city of angels in the wlobby in the persence of gangsters/ im the ***** that will beat you wit the stainless/ and leave you alive so you can run and tell skane bitch/ i got *****s in jersey that will hang you, im a los angeles king wit new york rangers/ and your lucky yayo got the beeper on his ankle, joe buddens the tru defination of a wankster/
Then game cuts up budden by talking shit.
Budden:
Oh, okay you f*ckin' faggot... "Fame??" "Lame???" You only a Replacement till Yayo come home, *****. Game-Over *****. It's not Real,--ya got another 8 months 'fore the 5-Heartbeats Run is over. Stop that singing sh*t. Yayo'll be home in a minute, ya run'll be over faggot...
wanna be Dre, Ren, Ice Cube & Eazy/
But--you ain't them, aiight Duke? Believe me/
Sound type Drastic, Tell Banks ta ghostwrite but then you'll sound like Fab/ Get a sound like--*BL-D-DAAAT!!*/
He's not real, never heard a sound like that/
He's a bitch, probably sleep in a gown and nightcap/
I got a big chrome friend that I tuck along with me/
And I brung that since you like suckin' on 50's/
It's not B.I.G. & Pac, not East vs. West/
***** this is least versus best/
Wack west ***** from a sideblock, meanwhile/
'Gainst dude that could fill an iPod with just freestyles/
Do the math, you ain't sold shit/
And I sold 500K more than that/
Heard your diss track but I ain't even play all that/
Because I just seen dude and he ain't say all that/
Was in the same Hotel if dude wanted to do me/
I'da been Cassidy, gave him the room-key/
Got the guns and the vest out that I planted/
& "Dame" wouldda had his chest out like Janet/
That's what I mean, dude's on that tough shit/
Image for the public, but live none of it/
Scared to speak-speak cuz he scared, so he dap on some love shit/
Then he get in the booth on some thug shit/
& Go and put you in a verse/
*****, this 4'll put you in the hearse/
Naaaw, The hands'll put you in the dirt/
Cause guns is like Soap-On-A-Rope, takes a fag ta start using 'em first/
A-ta-the-K, gym-ta-the-star/
Wanna play Kayser Soze??--*BLAM!!!* *****, limp to your car/
This fag here can't be for really gettin' at me/
You're gonna need more than a shield and Vick Mackie's/
Next time don't be a coward about it/
Just get loud when there's a crowd and show everybody you bout it/
It's Mr. G-G-G-G...--stop that, holmes/
You only known for 5-Heartbeat hooks & gettin' popped at/
See no evil, I hear the people/
They askin, I tell 'em I got your career on TIVO/
And if the song's so true and you be "poppin them thangs"/
Maybe you can tell Jimmy he can stop callin' Skane/
I'm just tryin' to save your rep/
You not a rapper, you ass/
They gassed you like you gon Save The West/
I doubt that, not him, he'll need help/
And Dre gon' put him on the shelf, better learn from Rakim/
So when I see you asshole, we can let the glocks blow/
Come through Jersey or I'll meet you at Roscoe's/
Another fake thug gets killed/
Hundred Red-Dots on ya if you wanna be a Blood for real./
Muthafuckka...Chyea!! And that's it, man. Game-fuckin-Over--I ain't gon keep doing this shit back-&-forth. 50, Stop sending ya little fuckin' wack-ass Pawns, & come holla at a Real-*****, man. The *****'s ass, fuck him--Fuck Dame, Fuck Banks, Buck, & any them other *****s Curtis tryingta send over this way.
Fuck the whole muthafuckkin G-Unit, Aka the Muthafuckkin 5-Heartbeats--Fuck Banks, Buck, Yayo, "Dame," & fuckin' Curtis--singin ass *****s... "Niiiiiiigghts Liiiike thiiiisss!!!" hahaa, Fuck outta here man.
You know where I'm at, and ya know how ta get at me *****. & I heard that little slick-sh*t that ya said in the begining of ya shit 'bout ya was gonna punch *****s in the face and all that, --Ya was real polite when I seen ya.
And tell Amaya I said "What up," I'ma save that little-trick for when ya tryta holler-back at me. YEAAA!! Game-Over, maggot. JERS!!! One.
got this off the joebudden.com forums
some dude typed em out
so if there wrong blame him:D
Bitch *****s get put in the coffin ,wit all that psycopath talking, you listened to the source and i aint from boston. im gangbanging wearing g6's, call em how i see them these *****s is bitches, and clue put this ***** on a song, now hes gggg-unit and i came to get it on. you aint hot ***** you lukewarm, ill hogtie ya ass with gunit shoes on. you had pump it up, that was a cool song, you only sold ten records ***** now move on/ talking bout you got rachets and tools on, but you was at the all-star game wit no ***els on/ i cant believe i gave you that, wit the 45 on me i should have gave you that/ pistol whipped you, layed you flat/ jump off buddens nah a disgrace to a yankee hat / and its time to state my biz, the only ***** pushin rock in jersey is jason kidd/ you a phoney ***** ill erase your wig/ have you running to the church like mas done did/
You dont know me fool/ to diss me on dj clue/ i dont need no assistance, to dig you a ditch, and any problem i got i just put my clip in/ you fake like janets titty/ one call 300 bloods in atlantic city/ you a bad-boy then dance like diddy/ i give celebrity beat downs i bring the camera wit me/ on that mixtape shit you knew my man was 50/ and i keep some crome in the tanish dickies/ smoke ***** like a gram of sticky/ and i know my way to harlem ill take you to bransons with me/ come to compton youll vanish quickly/ i got *****s in the hood that will kill you for a can of mickys/ games in la we never die/ and we will let hollowtips fly at joe buddens/
I drive throught the desert storm, kick up dust/ red and blue rags hangin outta pickup trucks/ get banks on the phone ***** hit young buck/ tell em we got a problem with this dumb fuck/ you was just in the city of angels in the wlobby in the persence of gangsters/ im the ***** that will beat you wit the stainless/ and leave you alive so you can run and tell skane bitch/ i got *****s in jersey that will hang you, im a los angeles king wit new york rangers/ and your lucky yayo got the beeper on his ankle, joe buddens the tru defination of a wankster/
Then game cuts up budden by talking shit.
Budden:
Oh, okay you f*ckin' faggot... "Fame??" "Lame???" You only a Replacement till Yayo come home, *****. Game-Over *****. It's not Real,--ya got another 8 months 'fore the 5-Heartbeats Run is over. Stop that singing sh*t. Yayo'll be home in a minute, ya run'll be over faggot...
wanna be Dre, Ren, Ice Cube & Eazy/
But--you ain't them, aiight Duke? Believe me/
Sound type Drastic, Tell Banks ta ghostwrite but then you'll sound like Fab/ Get a sound like--*BL-D-DAAAT!!*/
He's not real, never heard a sound like that/
He's a bitch, probably sleep in a gown and nightcap/
I got a big chrome friend that I tuck along with me/
And I brung that since you like suckin' on 50's/
It's not B.I.G. & Pac, not East vs. West/
***** this is least versus best/
Wack west ***** from a sideblock, meanwhile/
'Gainst dude that could fill an iPod with just freestyles/
Do the math, you ain't sold shit/
And I sold 500K more than that/
Heard your diss track but I ain't even play all that/
Because I just seen dude and he ain't say all that/
Was in the same Hotel if dude wanted to do me/
I'da been Cassidy, gave him the room-key/
Got the guns and the vest out that I planted/
& "Dame" wouldda had his chest out like Janet/
That's what I mean, dude's on that tough shit/
Image for the public, but live none of it/
Scared to speak-speak cuz he scared, so he dap on some love shit/
Then he get in the booth on some thug shit/
& Go and put you in a verse/
*****, this 4'll put you in the hearse/
Naaaw, The hands'll put you in the dirt/
Cause guns is like Soap-On-A-Rope, takes a fag ta start using 'em first/
A-ta-the-K, gym-ta-the-star/
Wanna play Kayser Soze??--*BLAM!!!* *****, limp to your car/
This fag here can't be for really gettin' at me/
You're gonna need more than a shield and Vick Mackie's/
Next time don't be a coward about it/
Just get loud when there's a crowd and show everybody you bout it/
It's Mr. G-G-G-G...--stop that, holmes/
You only known for 5-Heartbeat hooks & gettin' popped at/
See no evil, I hear the people/
They askin, I tell 'em I got your career on TIVO/
And if the song's so true and you be "poppin them thangs"/
Maybe you can tell Jimmy he can stop callin' Skane/
I'm just tryin' to save your rep/
You not a rapper, you ass/
They gassed you like you gon Save The West/
I doubt that, not him, he'll need help/
And Dre gon' put him on the shelf, better learn from Rakim/
So when I see you asshole, we can let the glocks blow/
Come through Jersey or I'll meet you at Roscoe's/
Another fake thug gets killed/
Hundred Red-Dots on ya if you wanna be a Blood for real./
Muthafuckka...Chyea!! And that's it, man. Game-fuckin-Over--I ain't gon keep doing this shit back-&-forth. 50, Stop sending ya little fuckin' wack-ass Pawns, & come holla at a Real-*****, man. The *****'s ass, fuck him--Fuck Dame, Fuck Banks, Buck, & any them other *****s Curtis tryingta send over this way.
Fuck the whole muthafuckkin G-Unit, Aka the Muthafuckkin 5-Heartbeats--Fuck Banks, Buck, Yayo, "Dame," & fuckin' Curtis--singin ass *****s... "Niiiiiiigghts Liiiike thiiiisss!!!" hahaa, Fuck outta here man.
You know where I'm at, and ya know how ta get at me *****. & I heard that little slick-sh*t that ya said in the begining of ya shit 'bout ya was gonna punch *****s in the face and all that, --Ya was real polite when I seen ya.
And tell Amaya I said "What up," I'ma save that little-trick for when ya tryta holler-back at me. YEAAA!! Game-Over, maggot. JERS!!! One.
got this off the joebudden.com forums
some dude typed em out
so if there wrong blame him:D
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