Letras
"The Object of the Game", by The Notorious B.I.G.
The object of the game, dog, gotta make money
Take money even if you gotta take the plate from me
If they on the run eating, fuck it, take the steak from 'em
If it's rare, who care, man?
I love and hate money
On the real though, can't let the love escape from me
'Cause the hate make a nigga wanna shake and break something
Trying to put my three kids in the lap of luxury
So I gotta hustle hard to even live comfortably
Who the fuck said life would be like this?
I can't blow, man, I'm rhyming over beats like this
Rock a hundred dollar trees and a fresh new hat
My kids all got LeBrons and my wifey stacked
So I don't even know why I sit and complain
I got two oh sixes, my tax insane
But the money make the world go round, my nigga
Find myself broke down, to' down off liquor
I've lost my battle before it starts
My first breath wasn't done
My spirit's sunken deep into the ground
I've lost my battle before it starts
My first breath wasn't done
Yeah, yeah, yeah
My spirit's sunken deep into the ground
Ayo
It's the American dream to rule the evil
They got me going bug, man, I'm losing people
Wake up midnight start pacing hallways
Got my mind on my money and it's funny, it's all day
I need big whips, big chains and all that
Hundred acres and mattress for a doormat
I'm always making moves, I can't fall back
Each dollar that I lose, I'm like, respawn, react
I make a few stacks, I put it all on Black, '
Cause it ain't never enough and that's actual fact
At the bar with my niggas, all shots on me
And then I'm broke the next day, how I'm gon' eat?
So I work like a slave just to make ends meet
Infinite pursuit of cash, it'll make friends beef
And I'm sick of feeling like I'm down and out
So I'ma kick the ceiling, start wilding out
What?