调：E minor•
Verse 1
Are you not entertained?
Let's go get him again.
my nigga.
Brooklyn stand up
B
Em
Am
Never been a nigga
this good for this long
This hood or this pop,
this hot or this strong
With so many different flows,
this one's for this song
The next one I switch up,
this one will get bit up
Em
Am
These fucks too lazy to make up shit
They crazy,
they don't paint pictures,
they just traits me
They hostile from then
tryna reverse the outcome
I'm a writer for myself and others
I say a big verse,
I'm big enough to do it
I'm that barrel,
bring them out
It's hard to yell when the
barrel's in your mouth
I'm in new sneakers,
dual seaters, few divas
What more can I tell you,
W -I -L -L -I -E,
New York's ambassador
back to finish my business up
Am
Em
Am
What more can I do?
Em
Am
Em
Am
I know this much is true,
Em
true
You know what I'm about
Flying birds down south,
moving wet off the step
Purple rain in the drought
Stuckin on hoes, brushing up my shirt
But hate nothing on my clothes,
set my chains to my name
Young H .O. pitched to Ye Faithful
Even if they patrol, I make payroll
Benz paid for, friends they roll
Private jets down to Turks and Caicos
I'm 30 plus
Give me a crisp pair of jeans,
nigga button up
S -Caps on my feet,
make my sizes complete
What more can I say, Guru, play the beat
What more can I say to you?
Let's go!
What more can I say?
Now you know your ass is willy
When they got you in the mag
For like half a billy
And your ass ain't lily
White, that mean that shit
you write must be illy
It's both, I don't mean to boast,
but damn if I don't brag
Some crackers gon' act
like I ain't on they ass
The Martha Stewart that's
far from Jewish
just had the balls to do it
This ain't the show, I'm just EQing it
Em
Am
The groupie girl stop false accusing it
Back to the music,
the Maybach roof is translucent
Niggas got a problem, Houston?
What up B, they can't shut up me
what these streets did to me
let these clowns nitpick at me
Paint me like a picanie
I would literally kiss T .T. in the forehead
Tell her please forgive me
to squeeze into your forehead
In fact, I got a joint to knock
your points off
Young, over the guard, nigga, blasphemy
I'm at the Trump International, ask for me
I ain't never scared, I'm everywhere,
you ain't never there
Pound for pound,
that marketing plan was me
And no, I ain't get shot up
a whole bunch of times
I'll make up shit in a whole bunch of lines
And I ain't animated like,
say, a Busta Rhymes
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 culture
I supposed to be number one
on everybody's list
We'll see what happens
when I no longer exist
Fuck this, man
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