California Games

English translation

Yeah. What makes Mike's Armenian man, I don't think strikes is bottomless.

Promises have been quartered, I broke the pattern and notice I'm always honest.

The homies are saying don't even spazz, the ceiling is glass.

We already cracked it, give it a stamp. We sell the package, we shipping it back. It wasn't too shabby.

It wasn't your best.

No stress, I'm not even asking. OT like Barnum & Bailey.

Nothing changed much, hound in the bag. Home team, the crest of the ten.

Treat that boy like the jest he is. English on it, perfected the spin. I watch most of the messages get missed.

Pressure on me, can't prep or pretend. Pardon my absence, period or past.

My ass got whooped like one of the Jacksons. Warrior path.

The man in the mirror with action. I don't need to ask.

I ain't in the trap, the rats in the precinct singing like Toni Braxton.

I don't need to stop, but I keep my handy only to phone.

Clandestine handgun, beauty will kill. Some star confession.

Where ocean kiss canyon, every knee kneels where I'm standing.

Gutted, built to spill. Wild without abandon. I don't pocket watch, I think my hands in.

Swiss movement engraved with Sanskrit. Genie in the bottle, dirty dancing rancid.

Take off my pants one leg at a time. Two done scrambling. Make your move, talk slanting.

Maybe two or three more weak niggas you ran with. Stranded.

I'm smoking your confusion, cold lambent. Forty-eight hours on the rental, six hours on the plane.

California games with a bag and sixty-eight in the shade.

I could go mad or take something for the pain.

I only came back to tell you about those flames, boy. Only came back to tell you about them.

Wire frames and tape cross a broken nose. Wire tap a broker on fire hybrids, fire grows. Fire burn, fire knows.

Throat slit, this business pimps and hoes. The sadness kill them slow if not softly.

The exit costly. I cough and cough and cough and get these motherfuckers up off me,

Lord.

It was always fourth down, splitting center. Sickness in the symptom.

Sixth sense, stars pointed at people, not conditions. Fingers twist up.

If you could just make it through the winter, twice bitten.

Hers was sweet, mine's more bitter. Worth the wait. Darkness always was. It's like it had to be created.

Sour malice, my daughters power ballads.

Ring cross barren fields strung with the devil's rope. Gave the dead hope. The living weak peeping in the telescope.

Light leak in the photo. God's feet on they throat.

You really went up backwards on the escalator, man.

Yo, man, I don't want you to harp on shit, but yeah, I was pushing it, man.

Like we, we, we used to be able to do. And I miss that.

I miss that I can't just go play ball after doing whatever. I miss it, man.

Let's not-- come on, man. Playing ball and going the wrong way.

It's the same athle- it's the same as a pickup game.

Trying to go up a down escalator is a different story.

-It's like a pickup game. -It isn't a pickup game.

-Yes, it is. -A pickup game is for fun.

I felt young