Why do I need ID to get ID?
If I had ID, I wouldn’t need ID.
Rhymes so def, rhymes rhymes galore,
Rhymes that you’ve never even heard before.
Now if you say you heard my rhyme, we gonna have to fight,
‘Cause I just made the muthafuckas up last night!
If you go platinum, it’s got nothing to do with luck,
It just means that a million people are stupid as fuck.
I’m a street genius with a unique penis,
Got fly chicks on my dick that don’t even speak English.
All I see is sissies in magazines smiling…
Whatever happened to wildin’ out and being violent?
Whatever happened to catching a good, old-fashioned, passionate ass whoopin’?
And getting your shoes, coat and your hat tooken?
My new shorty got a gymnastic back,
‘87 emerald green on a classic Jag.
She had the cleft palate, I ordered chef’s salad;
She had the club foot, with that little arm,
I couldn’t help but laugh…she ordered Chicken Parm.
They say that love is powerful as cough syrup and Styrofoam.
All I know is I fell asleep and woke up in that Monte Carlo
With the ugly Kardashian…
Lamar, oh, sorry. Yo, we done both set the bar low.
What is competition? I’m tryna raise the bar high,
Who tryna jump and get it? You better off tryna skydive
Out the exit window of 5 G5’s with 5 grand
With your granddad as the pilot he drunk as fuck tryna land
With the hand full of arthritis and popping prosthetic leg
Bumpin Pac in the cockpit so the shit that pops in his head
Is an option of violence, someone heard the stewardess said
That your parachute is a latex condom hooked to a thread.
I’ve seen niggas transform like villain Decepticons,
Mollies’ll prolly turn these niggas to fuckin’ Lindsay Lohan.
A bunch of rich ass white girls lookin’ for parties,
Playin with Barbies, wreck the Porsche before you give ‘em the car key.
It seem like everybody dress tight now,
And I just want my credit.
You can’t take the heat, get ya ass out the kitchen
Matter fact, take ya ass back in there and wash the dishes.
I don’t mind you talkin shit, just keep it in the first person.
Nowadays, the game is all bugged out,
Phony, like back when Hammer tried to come thugged out.
Her dreams hold Versace,
She fall for Armani…
Only deal with rich niggas,
Fuck you and Mitt Romney.
Lyrically, I’m supposed to represent;
I’m not only the client, I’m the player president.
Feds still lurking,
They see I’m still putting work in.
Cause somewhere in America…
Miley Cyrus is still twerkin’.
I drop styles on ears…the public bite ‘em.
Not many went to school, so the dummies wouldn’t write ’em.
They say, “Yo Keith! You’re Kool, you usin’ big words!”
I went to college, I’m even more stupid, herb.
Ooh! Jesus Christ had dreads, so shake ‘em.
I ain’t got none, but I’m planning on growing some.
Imagine all the Hebrews going dumb…
Dancing on top of chariots and turning tight ones.
They claim we’re products from the bottom of Hell,
But the black is back, and it’s bound to sell.
Picture us coolin’ out on the Fourth of July…
And if you heard we were celebratin’, that’s a worldwide lie.
My heart is ‘We Are the World,’ my penis is P.E.
But my balls are Avatar, you could see ’em in 3D.
I drink twenty forties, smoke forty blunts,
Say a hundred rhymes, and not sound like you once.
‘What you doing in the club on a Thursday?’
She say she only here for her girl birthday…
They ordered champagne but still look thirsty,
Rock Forever 21 but just turned 30.
All right, stop whatcha doin, cause I’m about to ruin
The image and the style that you’re used to.
Might go fuck a rapper’s life up like Mo’nique did to Precious.
I’m stuck in a time capsule when rappers’ actually factual;
Meaning: shit you spit might cause killers to come and clap at you.
Food for thought, eat my words with your mind:
Emcees are grapes, and grapes are crushed to wine.
I can drink a whole Hennessy fifth.
Some call that a problem, but I call it a gift.
I chop ‘em into salad and my name ain’t Caesar.
Step to this and get shanked up,
I knocked out so many teeth, the tooth fairy went bankrupt.
‘You claim to be the man, you want me for a lover,
So you can do my girlfriends and my sister and my mother?’
I said, ‘You’re very blunt,’ with quickness to the cue,
‘So whassup with your mother, does she look as good as you?’
My mama didn’t see it comin, my daddy was there.
What’s my excuse? Cartoons were the root.
Started with Yosemite Sam
With the gun in the palm of the hand,
What couldn’t I demand?
I don’t know what’s better: getting laid or getting paid.
I just know when I’m getting one, the other’s getting away.
You stackin cheddar cause you working at the burger place.
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.
Couldn’t you see me and you stretched out in a bikini on the beach in Tahiti?
See, me, I’m very selective even though I could be greedy;
My main objective is to write our names together in graffiti.
I’m givin’ more flat lines to niggas than loose-leaf.
I don’t get pat down, you know what’s on the waist,
I don’t mean Jazz when I say I “count base.”
Fly Louis sneakers, Purple Tape coming out the speakers,
Bumped into my high school teachers,
They said I wouldn’t be nothing, sitting on the bleachers.
Now I’m sitting in the Phantom, trynna figure out the features.
I’m a big fish now, I watch for the leeches.
You got game like me? I doubt it.
They say pimping ain’t easy…what’s so hard about it?
Even when I say nothing, it’s a beautiful use of negative space.
My limo driver’s white, my attorney black…
‘Show me some love’ like I’m Bernie Mac.
Picture yourself crushin’ Xzibit with your tough talk?
That’s like Christopher Reeve doing the crip walk.
Wake up: all of that ‘crack in the street’ talk?
It’s made up, like ‘Jack and the Beanstalk.’
Put your hands where I can see ‘em, so they look like 12 PM
On the dot, see this Glock? Don’t make me give these shells freedom.
You know that one auntie, you don’t wanna be rude,
…But every holiday, nobody eatin’ her food.
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?
You can do all them push-ups to pump up your chest,
I got a 12 gauge Mossberg to pump up your chest,
Have you gasping for air after that shell hit your vest.
Fear me like you fear God, ‘cause I bring death.
Little brats yellin ‘Trick or Treat’ all through my screen door,
When y’all should be at home sleep,
Instead of at my front porch 15 deep.
The jack o’ lantern came in handy…
I can turn my porch light out like I ain’t got no candy.
But ain’t that somethin?
You buy a Halloween costume and a pumpkin,
Almost gave your children a heart attack.
It’s a tradition, but who the hell started that?
People say, ‘Grimm, you’ve been shot like 50.
So why don’t you just rhyme like 50?
Then, you could get the money like 50,
Otherwise, before you see success…you’ll be 50.’
Footballs, basketballs, microphones, gas and grass…
Just some of the few things that J-Ro likes to pass.