[Chrous]
|
(Don't say a word) just let me get mines
|
(Don't say a word) just relax and recline
|
(Don't say a word) I'm the king of ill lines
|
(Don't say a word) and all my groupies and dimes
|
(Don't say a word) keep it quiet, yo, don't say a word, son
|
(Don't say a word) keep it quiet, yo, don't say a word, yo
|
(Don't say a word) keep it quiet, son, don't say a word, yo
|
(Don't say a word) keep it quiet, son
|
|
[Verse 1]
|
Yo, I'm rap's dirty little secret that they try to keep quiet
|
Till you dropped off your label and your A&R fired
|
But real niggas like "That's Chino, fuck around, he gonna burn ya"
|
For real, I'm like a dead body coming for its murderer
|
Shit, you seen Chino lately? You gotta see him
|
What you get to make an album, I get in one day's per diem
|
Go 'head and live careless
|
Five years from now you'll be explaining to your childrens what welfare is
|
I'm anxious to explain to my babies why Daddy famous
|
I keep womens mad 'cause I'm prettier than they is
|
An old man, when they ask what you did when you was young
|
You'll say you hated Chino XL and carried a real big gun
|
(No more starvin') I seen more evolution than Charles Darwin
|
Mental revolution with physical attributes of Tarzan
|
I fold more papers than origami, playing you like Stymie
|
I'm feeling like an autograph, so many dream of signing me
|
Vocab extensive and glossy
|
Expose a flow so expensive it could drain a small Latin country's economy
|
Commit a verbal sodomy with a dime on Sodom who shot at me(?)
|
Rappers claiming original, but sounding just like Nas to me
|
Odds are getting dropped my me, high like Pras in Haiti's
|
Rips fully laced like Madonna wardrobe in the '80s
|
Museum is where they place these on the mount
|
You can hate me now, but you'll write with your left hand like Steve Stoute
|
Shut your mouth
|
|
[Chorus]
|
|
[Verse 2]
|
Yo, hey Detroit! Show me some love
|
Straight out of Jersey to the Slum Village
|
I lyrically pillage at a high percentage
|
And you critics keep your mouths in it like you questioned by the feds
|
My talent barely recognized like Kravitz without his dreads
|
Sprinkle my ashes all over Big Lez after I die
|
'Cause Chino been the illest since I was juvenile, ha
|
I make cash money, click, go to .380, put you in torment
|
Trigger finger got the realest frequent flyer mileage on it
|
I'm coming in the club, keep women pulling on my clothes, froze
|
I'm the lyrical debt, everyone I C-E-Os/see-he-owes
|
The illest of flows they fear, 'cause no rapper could stop me
|
I'm putting their careers on life support like Jody Watley's
|
I'm tired of S-curls, guest appearances and wack tours
|
You should've named your last album "What The Fuck For?"
|
I hope you ain't spitting them tough writtens out your mouth
|
Stay quiet like you Shan when KRS was in the house
|
Don't say a word
|
|
[Chorus]
|
|
[Verse 3]
|
I been rhyming since 1986, when R&B wasn't feeling us
|
No rap on Soul Train, motherfuck Don Cornelius
|
Now they all loving us after all that we been through
|
You still think I shouldn't have no beef like a Hindu?
|
I listen and laugh at your CD with my crew
|
Sound like being a fake me is better than being a real you
|
(Yo, is that it?) Hell naw, nigga, got more to tell
|
I ain't feel your albums like I swam in Orajel
|
XL an artist you can't control
|
Have MCs changing release dates like they're prisoners denied parole
|
Yeah, I used to rock for props and not the dollar amounts
|
Climbed the ladder of success leaned against the wrong house
|
Fake criminals, you so unfortunate
|
Only bid you ever did was on my old Lexus after I auctioned it
|
See me in the street and, straight bitch up
|
Keeping they mouth closed like they lips stitched up
|
Don't say a word
|
|
[Chorus 2x]
|
|
Shhhh...
|
|
-----------------
|
Don't Say A Word
|
| Chino XL |
