Artist: 2pac

Album: Above The Rim Soundtrack

Song: Loyal To The Game

Verse One: 2pac

Now Ive got task on a niggas ass, tell me will they blast me?

I think of an alias in case these crooked bitches ask me

Now, its gettin crazy after dark, these narcs

be like tryin to shut me down but Im too smart

Now picture me scared of the penitentiary

Ive been movin these things since the days of elementary

Now tell me what you need when you see me

Im stackin Gs, buyin all the things on T.V., believe me

I got some killas on my payroll, and they know

When its time to handle business, nigga lay low

Although Im young, Im still comin up

Im gettin paid, pullin rasors on niggas when they runnin up

The first to pull a strap when theres drama

Busta, you aint heard? Ive been slicin muthafukkas since I lost my momma There aint a cop that can stop me

My posse is cocked, G, and they dont quit until they drop Me

Im loyal to the game

(Chorus)

Verse Two: Treach

Without no doubt I aint no slouch and it aint time to back down

So I jumps in and try to stop-a and watch-a

Slap you cock-eyed like Popeye fucks spinach

Forgotten more shit than most crews ever know, or ever knew

Was born with 7 flows and only heaven knew

For beat the boot sex, the news breaks, the you shakes

Worse, they heard we got more nerve than a 2-fake

Yoo-hoo to you crew and you too so you knew

Im from Jersey and Im a teen so your block more than you do

Whose the new crew?

Show me your neck brotha, and heres another

Smack your mothers mammas mother

In the first mob of all those other crack lovers

Back was bitch-ass, trick ass, cluk-clow-cluk-clow

How ya like me then, how ya like me, hey-ho, how ya like me now?

Ow, pow, hurt, dont it? Bow, bow, dont run up on it

The same thing minus "P" hangin possies like an exponent

Oh yes, rock in slums, ya gots to run it

It makes no sense to smell like shit

If old ass George could be Washing-tons

(Chorus)

Verse Three: Riddler

Now I be loyal to my niggas on the blocks, just buckin the shots

And packin the glocks, and dodgin the cops, and takin over niggas

spots

Poppin after poppin the fools be droppin, the hoes be hoppin

On my thing cause it hangs like the nets from Above the Rim

You lookin grim, is it me or him or him

Or be with me, we be together

So whats up? We can do whatever

Cause real niggas stick together

Till they make it up to heaven

hrough the stress, through the hell, through the 1-8-7

The shorter the nigga, the bigga the trigga

The deeper they dig the ditch-a

The Naughty the Treach, then through to the Pac I brings the glock I

wets up

You fuckin body, Im like, Oh my Gody

Did I really shoot him? Yo I shot him

So got him, now I puts the crime behind me

And finds me, a place to lays my head low

I lives doin my rap, but I dies for my hood row

So all you fuckin fools better recognize, and know my fuckin name

I be Riddler to my niggas and Im loyal to the game