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THE GAME lyrics : "Hit The J"

That Marry Jane
That OG Kush, that sour diesel drive them girls insane
I roll it up, she disappear like David Blane

And she ain't try to book a flight on that paper plane
She don't wanna hit the J
She don't wanna hit the J

She don't wanna hit the J
She don't wanna hit the J


Don't want an undefeated title, don't want my chain
Don't want that new kid red, (*##$, is money gain
See that red Maserati, ^!$$%s know it's game

Drive that (*##$ down road screens and blow the brains
Got that Rolly on my wrist, man that hoe insane
Remind me of my chick Regatta, she always pay.

Got a squad full chicks, they ain't dropping names
They all call like the get up play for Notre Dame
What's the next? Gotta dig ins, yea, that's right, that's right

You know I'll be digging, I'll be eating on the kitten, I'll be picking out
Never take her out to crustaceans and the in and out
Just like that Charlie Shay, ^!$$% goin' in 'er mouth

She do everything 'xcept smoke that mean let a ^!$$% poke
That mean she be off the !@%!e like players centerfolds
Swear to God she a potent man

But she like Lindsay Lohan, except she be running from that dope man

That Harry Potter, that Marry Jane

That OG Kush, that sour diesel drive them girls insane
I roll it up, she disappear like David Blane
And she ain't try to book a flight on that paper plane

Cause she don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit the J)
She don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit the J)
She don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit it)

Now she don't wanna hit the J (woh oh woh oh)

Hit these (*##$es in my face, I'm blowing up

And when I'm stepping in the place, we'll be calling up
Fourteen bottles of Ace, models showing up
I tell 'er, homie break that down, and we gon roll it up

It's Friday and she ain't got %#@! to do
And we ain't got %#@! to do
So umm, what's good with you?

Smoke a little, talk a little, roll that up
Girl twist that J, remind me of my ^!$$% Rondo
I know she ain't trying to hit that J

Different chains, different lokes
Different days, different strokes.
I smoke that %#@! that made Arnold and Willis broke

You know my lifestyle, squeeshes in them life styles
(*##$es in the white house, red Camarro piped out.
I'll be iced out, my blunts be packed in

I'll smoke them till it's no more, I'm like the pack ten
I'm 'bout to pack ten (*##$es with them accents
Man we 'bout to pack twelve swishers in that black hen


That Harry Potter, that Marry Jane
That OG Kush, that sour diesel drive them girls insane

I roll it up, she disappear like David Blane
And she ain't try to book a flight on that paper plane
Cause she don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit the J)

She don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit the J)
She don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit it)
Now she don't wanna hit the J (woh oh woh oh)

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