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Once I slapped a rapper with mace,
Then I spit acid in his face, after he rinsed his eyes, no wait…
I actually grew five times my size, grabbed Ma$e by the thigh and slapped a rapper with him.
Wear this tee while you are rolling down the street, smokin indo, and/or sippin on gin & juice. Or just to work, school, wherever.
Shop NowSomebody gotta tell you this:
Cancer kills way more Americans than any Arabic terrorist.
We use more money to fight them than finding a cure,
So a little kid sits there with his chemo-therapist.
Hair falling out while his vital signs weaken…
He’ll be dead while his parent are in debt for his treatment.
These days you can’t see who’s in cahoots,
Cause now the KKK wears three-piece suits.
I’m on some tax-free shit by any means,
Whether bound to hit scheme or some counterfeit C.R.E.A.M.
Cocaine trafficking, your boy’s back again,
Moving bricks like I got a degree in scaffolding.
Fucking with some cats from Newark…half of them Jewish,
Cool white boys riding around, blasting my music,
And I’m taxin’ them like Jackson-Hewitt.
The IRS’ll never sweat me or even put up a fight…
Cause I’m sure I’ve paid more in taxes than you’ve made in yo’ life!
You wanna stop the X? Try your best,
I’m still fuckin with your pockets like the IRS.
Takes a long time to happen so fast…
To realize that your future is somebody else’s past
Hip-hop started on the block;
I fell asleep at the wheel, the shit crashed into Pop.
It’s like I’m married to the silencer,
Until I file for divorce and release my ex-calibers.
Do art with your arteries, place that for my adversaries,
Put your snap back cap back, cap your capillaries.
I got a problem with spending before I get it…
We all self-conscious, I’m just the first to admit it.
Could hate a person, but in fact it’s not worth it.
Never know how long you’ve got on this earth, kid.
Question religion, question it all,
Question existence until them questions are solved.
There’s four sides to every story…
If these walls could talk, they’d probably still ignore me.
And I’m not sure why I’m infatuated with death,
My imagination is surely an aggravation of threats…
Maybe cause I’m a dreamer, and sleep is the cousin of death,
Really stuck in the scheme of wondering when I’mma rest.
You don’t really get why I’m so pissed?
Understand this:
I’m an artist, and I’m sensitive about my shit.
Brooklyn: the home of the black and the beautiful.
For a rough rap sound, ain’t a place more suitable.
If you ain’t using all the talents God provided you with
For the betterment of Man, understand,
You ain’t nothing but a waste.
Whatcha gonna do to this?
You may be older than me, but you’re new to this.
Cause I been out there, queen of MC’s,
When your man was walkin’ round in mocknecks and Lee’s.
While you were over here perpetratin’ a fraud,
I was overseas on the charts with Boy George.
You’re the beginner, Shante’s the winner,
Havin’ other competition for dinner.
Sit you on the table with a plate and cup,
Say grace…and then eat your ass up.
Sorry, Mrs. Drizzy, for so much art talk;
Silly me rappin’ ‘bout shit that I really bought.
While these rappers rap about guns they ain’t shot,
And a bunch of other silly shit that they ain’t got.
A rap villain: chillin’ and I don’t give a fuck about a killin’ cause I’m still in effect when you’re illin’.
My feet might fail me, my heart might ail me,
The synagogues of Satan might accuse or jail me,
Strip, crown, nail me, brimstone hail me…
They might defeat the flesh but they could never ever kill me.
They might feel the music but could never ever feel me.
I never boned a honey that I didn’t like,
I never saw a mile that I couldn’t hike.
I never had a spliff to make me choke,
I never had a pocket that was broke.
Bitch, I’m coming live from the trunk and I thrive on the funk;
Cause I’d rather die like a man than survive like a punk.
Run from the police, picture that,
Nigga I’m too fat…
I fuck around and catch a asthma attack.
Rappers can’t sleep, need sleepin’,
B.I.G. keep creepin’,
Bullets heat-seekin’,
Casualties need treatin’,
Dumb rappers need teachin’.
I know how it feels to wake up fucked up,
Pockets broke as hell, another rock to sell.
People look at you like you’s the user,
Selling drugs to all the losers, mad buddha abuser.
But they don’t know about the stress-filled day…
Baby on the way, mad bills to pay,
That’s why you drink Tanqueray,
So you can reminisce and wish
You wasn’t living so devilish, shit.
Damn right I like the life I live,
Cause I went from negative to positive.
Back in the days, our parents used to take care of us.
Look at ‘em now…they even fuckin’ scared of us.
If I wasn’t in the rap game,
I’d probably have a key knee-deep in the crack game.
Because the streets is a short stop:
Either you’re slinging crack rock or you got a wicked jump shot.
You and your friends…always together,
No time for the B-I-G, so I’m O-U-T.
The sex was great, but the headaches I can’t take.
I think I made a very big mistake.
You’re mad cause my style you’re admiring…
Don’t be mad, UPS is hiring.
There’s gonna be a lot of slow singing and flower bringing
If my burglar alarm starts ringing
…The greatest rapper of all time died on March 9th.
God bless his soul, rest in peace, kid.
It’s because of him now at least I know what beef is.
About those other Jennys I reckoned with,
Lost them all like a homework excuse.
This time, the Magic Number is two,
Cause it takes two, not three, to seduce.
My destiny of love is brought to an apex,
Sex is a mere molecule.
In this world of love that I have for you
It’s true…Eye know I love you better.
Unpredictable, liable to flip my lid…
My moms dropped me on my head when I was a kid.
Back then I lost all my marbles, today I lost my job,
So in essence, it’s Armageddon, somebody’s bound to get robbed!
Real niggaz represent and don’t die,
Never dead, like I said, all we fuckin’ do is multiply.
It seems to me like all these people claim to be the victim,
Acting like the whole entire world is out to get them.
Stand up on your own,
And prove that you are grown,
Because the life that you save may be your own.
Why is the world round?
Why do the suckas bite?
Why do the freaks come out at night?
Why they paint Jesus white?
I sit and wonder why we breakin hip-hop laws,
Doing videos in houses that we know ain’t yours.
How can they say feeling good is an addiction?
But the world is full of shit, so I don’t listen,
In fact, ‘we livin’ to die’ is a contradiction.
On the real, fuck your opinion.
I made it this far, and you broke.
I be tossin’, enforcin’, my style is awesome.
I’m causin’ more Family Feuds than Richard Dawson.
And the survey said: “You’re dead.”
Fatal Flying Guillotine chops off your fuckin’ head!
I met a gypsy and she hipped me to some life game,
To stimulate, then activate the left and right brain.
Said, ‘Baby boy, you only funky as your last cut.
You focus on the past, your ass’ll be a has-what.’
That’s one to live by, or either that’s one to die to.
I am recognizing that the voice inside my head
Is urging me to be myself, but never follow someone else
Because opinions are like voices, we all have a different kind.
First I snatched the streets, then I snatched the charts.
First I had they ear, now I have their heart.
Rappers came and went…I’ve been here from the start.
I seen them put it together, watched them take it apart.
I be with broads that got they shit together;
Even if it ain’t meant forever, still smoke the spliff together.
The essence of the herbs, the presence of the words…
Yeah you got a chest, but I’m treasurin’ your curves.
Just ‘cause you got money don’t mean you made it.
Just ’cause you make it, don’t give you the right to be on that fake shit.
If you admire somebody, you should go on ‘head tell ’em;
People never get the flowers while they can still smell ’em.
What if somebody from the Chi that was ill got a deal on the hottest rap label around?
But he wasn’t talking ‘bout coke and birds, it was more like spoken word,
Except he’s really puttin’ it down.
Bullets ain’t racial, kid…they only hate you.