(Are you not entertained?)
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(Are..you..not..entertained?)
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(Is this not why you're here?)
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Uh, Uh, Huh
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Turn the music up
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Turn me down
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Guru...Lets go get 'em again
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This time it's for the money my nigga
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Brooklyn stand up
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[Verse One]
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There's never been a nigga this good for this long
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This hood
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Or this pop, this hot
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Or this strong
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With so many different flows
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This ones for this song
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The next one I'll switch up
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This one will get bit up
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These fucks
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To lazy to make up shit
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They crazy
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They don't...paint pictures
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They just trace me
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You know what
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Soon they forget where they plucked
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They whole style from
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And try to reverse the outcome
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I'm like...tough
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I'm not a biter
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I'm a writer
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For myself and others
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I say a B.I.G. verse I'm only biggin up my brother
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Biggin up my borough
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I'm big enough to do it
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I'm that thorough
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Plus I know my own flow is foolish
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So them rings and things you sing about
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Bring em out
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It's hard to yell when the bar-rel's in your mouth
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I'm in...New sneakers
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Deuce seaters
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Few Diva's
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What more can I tell you
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Let me spell it for you
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W-I-Double L-I-E
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Nobody truer than H-O-V
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And I'm back for more
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New Yorks ambassador
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Prime Minister back to finish my business up
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[Chorus: Singing]
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What more can I say?
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What more can I do?
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I give this all to you
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I know this much is true
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My Life
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(Look at my life)
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(See what I see)
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[Verse Two]
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You already know what I'm about
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Flyin birds down south
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Movin wet off the step
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Purple Rain in the drought
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Stuntin on hoes
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Brushin off my shirt
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But ain't nothin on my clothes
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'Cept my chain
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My name
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Young H-O
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Pitch the yay faithful
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Even if they patrol I make payroll
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Benz paid for
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Friends they roll
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Private jets to the Turks and Caicos
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Cris' case loads
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I don't give a shit
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Nigga one life to live I can't let a day go
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Bye
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Without me being fly
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Fresh to death
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Head to toe until the day I rest
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And i don't wear jerseys I'm thirty plus
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Give me a crisp pair of jeans nigga button ups
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S dots on my feet
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Make a cypher comeplete
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What more can I say Guru play the beat, I'm livin'
|
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We gonna let this ride into the hook
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I'mma snap my fingers on this one
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What more can I say to you?
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Get my grown man on
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LET'S GO
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(What more can I say?)
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[Verse Three]
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Now you know ass is willie
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When they got you in a mag
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For like half a billi
|
And your ass ain't Lilly
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White
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That mean that shit you write must be illy
|
Either that or your flow is silly
|
It's both
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I don't mean to boast
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But damn if I don't brag
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Them crackers gonna act like I ain't on they ass
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The Martha Stewart
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That's far from Jewish
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Far from a Harvard student
|
Just had the balls to do it
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And no I'm not through with it
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In fact I'm just previewin it
|
This ain't the show I'm just EQ'in it
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One, Two and I won't stop abusin it
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To gropie girls stop false accusin it
|
Back to the music
|
The mayback roof is translucent
|
Niggas got a problem Houston
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What up B
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They can't shut up me
|
Shut down I
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Not even P.E.
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I'mma ride
|
God forgive me for my brash delivery
|
But I remember vividly
|
What these streets did to me
|
So picture me
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Lettin these clowns nit pick at me
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and Paint me like a pickiny
|
I will literally
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Kiss Tee-Tee in the forhead
|
Tell her please forgive me
|
Then squeeze into your forhead
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I'm not the one to score points off
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In fact
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I got a joint to knock your points off
|
Young
|
Hova the God nigga blasphamy
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I'm at the Trump International
|
Ask for me
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I ain't never scared
|
I'm everywhere
|
You ain't never there
|
Nigga why would I ever care
|
Pound for pound I'm the best to ever come around here
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Excluding nobody
|
Look what I embody
|
The soul of a hustler I really ran the street
|
A CEO's mind
|
That marketing plan was me
|
And no I ain't get shot up a whole bunch of times
|
Or make up shit in a whole bunch of lines
|
And I ain't animated, like say a, Busta Rhymes
|
But the real shit you get when you bust down my lines
|
Add that to the fact I went plat a bunch of times
|
Times that by my influence on pop culutre
|
I supposed to be number one on everybodys list
|
| We'll see what happens when I n |
