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You can tell by the rhyme it’s my time to shine;
Let’s eat, motherfucker, I don’t dine on swine.
I don’t beef with turkeys, I told you the God’ll fold you,
Hard to digest: I suggest that you take tofu.
Music business hates me cause the industry ain’t make me,
Hustlers and boosters embrace me and the music I be makin.
I dumbed down for my audience to double my dollars…
They criticized me for it, yet they all yell ‘HOLLA!’
If skills sold, truth be told, I’d probably be, lyrically, Talib Kweli.
Truthfully I wanna rhyme like Common Sense,
But I did five mil…I ain’t been rhymin like Common since.
Why give you the cure when the disease makes money?
Real, rough and rugged, shine like a gold nugget,
Every time I pick up the microphone, I drug it.
My sense of self and my mental health
Is much more powerful than any hint of wealth.
For 9-6, the only MC with a flu.
Yeah, I rhyme sick, I be what you tryin’ to do.
Just because no one can understand how you speak,
Don’t necessarily mean that what you be sayin is deep.
New York, New York is where we live and we’re thorough,
Never taking shorts, ‘cause Brooklyn’s the borough.
Peace to Uptown, to Queens and The Bronx,
Long Island and Jersey get as fly as they want.
But I must tell you, where we rest is no joke…
So let me break it down to sections for you slow pokes:
Fort Greene, Bed-Stuy, Flatbush, Brownsville,
Crown Heights and East New York will be down till,
Medina takes respect for the styles we bring,
‘Cause in Brooklyn we be into our own thing.
Wake up: all of that ‘crack in the street’ talk?
It’s made up, like ‘Jack and the Beanstalk.’
Breathe in…inhale vapors from bright stars that shine,
Breathe out…weed smoke retrace the skyline.
Age ain’t nothing but a number, that’s what Chi-Ali said.
OK, then why don’t you get that through the judge’s head?
Put a quarter in your ass, ‘cause ya played yourself.
Won’t cha…picture life as my wife, just think:
Full length mink, fat X and O links,
Bracelets to match, conversation was all that,
Showed you the safe combinations and all that.
Guess you could say you’s the one I trusted…
Who would ever think that you would spread like mustard?
You’re too light to fight, plus you’re too thin to win.
Who ya gonna call when I break your glass chin?
Yo, it’s 1 universal law but 2 sides to every story,
3 strikes and you be in for life, mandatory.
4 MC’s murdered in the last 4 years,
I ain’t tryin to be the 5th one, the Millennium is here.
Yo, it’s 6 million ways to die, from the 7 deadly thrills,
8-year olds gettin’ found with 9 mill’s.
It’s 10 P.M., where your seeds at? What’s the deal?
Braniac dumb-dumbs, bust the scientifical,
Approach to the course and the force is centrifugal.
Can you find your way through the lyrics that be catchin’ ‘em?
Throw another rhyme across the room, they be fetchin’ ’em.
Telling my business to kids I don’t even know,
You’re like a daytime talk show…and that’s low.
Your reign on the top was short like leprechauns,
As I crush so-called Willies, thugs, and rapper-dons.
On the square…I’m not riffin’ like Andy Griffith,
Just fed up, goin’ head up, with competition.
When you say you love me, it doesn’t matter.
It goes into my head as just chit-chatter.
You may think it’s egotistical or just worry-free,
But what you say, I take none of it seriously.
Ayo, the arm bone connected to the hand bone,
Nigga, the hand bone connected to the damn chrome!
Nowadays rap artists coming half-hearted,
Commercial like pop, or underground like black markets.
Where were you the day hip-hop died?
Is it too early to mourn? Is it too late to ride?
Fake MC’s – they always act hard
But won’t walk the streets without their bodyguards.
Rappers can’t sleep, need sleepin’,
B.I.G. keep creepin’,
Bullets heat-seekin’,
Casualties need treatin’,
Dumb rappers need teachin’.
I was always taught my do’s and don’ts:
For do’s I did, and for don’ts, I said I won’t.
Don’t you like when the winter’s gone,
And all of a sudden it starts gettin’ warm?
The trees and the grass start lookin’ fresh,
And the sun and sky be lookin’ their best…
Look: if I shoot you, I’m brainless,
But if you shoot me, then you’re famous.
What’s a nigga to do?
Ain’t nothin’ like hip-hop music;
You like it cause you choose it.
Most DJ’s won’t refuse it,
A lotta sucka MC’s misuse it.
Lemonade was a popular drink and it still is;
I get more props and stunts than Bruce Willis.
This country of ours was built on violence;
If your ass got in the way, you was killed in silence.
And these been the ways since back in the days:
Just ask the Indians or the African slaves.
I’d rather die enormous than live dormant.
If you can’t respect that, your whole perspective is wack.
Maybe you’ll love me when I fade to black.
I’m not a ‘Businessman,’ I’m a Business… man! Let me handle my business, damn!
Said she loved my necklace, started relaxin’.
Now that’s what the fuck I call a chain reaction!
We live to love, and we love to rock mics.
We speak in ghetto tongue, cause ghetto’s the life.