Hip -hop is not a music category.
It's a culture.
It's a culture.
You want something done right,
you gotta do it yourself.
You want something done right,
you gotta do it yourself.
You want something done right,
you gotta do it yourself.
You want something done right,
you gotta do it yourself.
You gotta do it yourself
You want something done right
But you gotta do it yourself
You gotta do it yourself
Don't underestimate me
cause I do po etry
My rhyme is sweet but deadly
Turn your platinum and ice
to mere novelty
Cause all you do is skeet on the mic
With trite slang, talking yang -yang
While I speak your lang -ya -lang
With lyric, aromatic
Ain't gotta spit no gung -thick shit
Cause life is hardcore enough
Don't need to wax gangsta to be tough
Being black in
America is rough
Plus, cuz
What you think, sis?
You the only bitch ever
went down on a nigga?
You invented sexin'
or somethin'?
Well, why you always talk about it then?
What, your pen ran out of ink?
What, your mind has ceased to think?
Let mass media determine your worth?
Still the right
God gave you since birth?
First woman on
Earth?
A
Burberry shirt won't
make you no queen
And last time I checked,
being a whore wasn't synonymous with warriors
So take that fake identity back to the store,
get a refund
Or better yet, get some respect
Kill mass media's fingers off
from around your neck
Give them a swift ass kick and
Go on about your way and
have a nice day
Okay, okay
Watch, watch
I'ma bust this,
roll this shit real tight like a spliff tip
Bounce to this yo, check this
Pay attention my niggas,
while my flow I can figure
It's set in stone,
so you can't change it
Rearrange it, these hip -hop
commandments transcendent
I rise above ordinariness, yo,
this don't be blessed with
Liquid knowledge, soul porridge,
you'll be with a high wattage
Step back, yo, I got this
Yo, I got this
Tongues of flame hover over me
As I speak in lost language,
you spit like fire
Retire your rhyme attempt, son
You can't fuck with the divine, dun
You can't fuck with the divine, dun
My words are written on scrolls of the
Dead
Sea
Retreat before my lyrical army
make you a mockery
Heed the prophecy,
turn bold to make this truth I speak
Heed the prophecy
Don't underestimate me
cause I do poetry
My rhyme is sweet but deadly
Turn your platinum and
ice him in novelty
Cause all you do is skeet on the mic
With trite slang, talking yang -y ang
While I speak your language
Lyric, aromatic
Ain't gotta spit no gung -thick shit
Cuss, cuss, cuss, cuss, cuss, cuss, cuss, cuss,
background
I'm
You