Uh, we just going to keep it going and going
|
until I feel completed and happy about it. You know?
|
|
Uh, Opus of a ghetto boy who grew into a project man
|
Brewster Place (booster plates), he used to stick his scissors in his sockets damn
|
clear that Project Runway, 'cause this is where my rocket lands
|
ain't got no problems, Houston, I A.K.A. then rocket land
|
Events recent that lit a fire under him like pots and pans
|
rockets and I (eye) up in the sky like helicopter cams
|
And you down there in the traffic jam
|
from here I've seen a bunch of fake shit like avid wrestling fans
|
Came up from the bottom of the eye exam, zoom
|
Now I'm like the biggest G off in the room
|
still hard to see me like the truth on TV
|
or the roof from the sidewalk, I don't flow (floor), I ceiling
|
My mama said they need me
|
'cause, I'm made from the best stuff on earth like Snapple Tea Leaves
|
they glass is half full so I spit into them like Celie
|
no longer G, now you can see me
|
but your letters' (lettuce) still under my sea (C) like seaweed
|
C and G but nothing bout me CG
|
It's all real, none of this is green screen
|
(Shut Up and Let Me Go) just like The Ting Tings
|
I'm feeling like a Mac, standing around a bunch of PCs
|
I've rocked it from the shouters to the soccer moms
|
try to stop what's going on
|
you'll see the back of my hand like the tops of palms
|
I'm balling like the tops of pawns
|
circle of influence getting bigger like the ripples on the tops of ponds
|
Short-footed and War Headed like the tops of bombs
|
Dominoing niggas, delivery is Papa John's, Little Ceaser's, uh
|
burning down your Pizza Huts
|
Plaque collection building 'cause, I don't brush my teeth enough
|
yeah, Crack is wack and reefer sucks, you might think this deep as fuck
|
but this like my weaker stuff
|
they ask "Is this his day-to-day 'cause this is like a week to us?"
|
Mic is shy and speakers blush, I is shy (Chi) and he is up
|
I correct, me is up - no we is up - cause its like two of me
|
and each of us, rapping acid, eat this up
|
A-Town down, peace is up, New York to East Coast is tough
|
West Side riding, lot of niggas salty 'cause
|
'cause I be overseas and (over seasoned) tough.
|
Everything seamless, WorldStar never seen this
|
NahRight gotta stream this, motherfucking genius
|
Brave and fly, you backboneless and wingless
|
bunch of chickens on the strip, I'm coming for they fingers
|
till what they throwing up is meaningless
|
Chilly Chill you seeing this? This didn't make MTV's list
|
Finish fingers, eating wrist, feeding frenzy and shit
|
Succotash suffering, Chicken Fricassee-en this
|
a beat eating media blitz
|
pace is getting feverish, pain is growing severe-ish
|
these the peppers Peter picked
|
things are at their easiest, Real Compton city G'in it
|
but I'm from Chicago, house lights, bravos
|
|
Yeah, I'm just playing....Internet, check!
|
|
-----------------
|
Say Somethin'
|
| Lupe Fiasco |