Lyric Intro / A Million And One Questions / Rhyme No Mor
[somebody whispering]
Somebody s pulling me closer to the ground
I ain t panicked, I been here before
Seems like only yesterday when I got up on that stage
In front of that crowd
And showed them who was who, and what was what
Man look at these suckers
I ain t no rapper, I m a hustler
It just so happens that I know how to rap
Okay, I m reloaded!
(music drops in)
[Jay-Z]
I did it again niggaz
Fucked up, right? I know
I know what y all niggaz asking yourself
Is he gonna ever fall off?
No...
...a lot of speculation
on the monies I ve made, honeys I ve slayed
How is he for real? Is that nigga really paid?
Hustlers I ve met or, dealt with direct
Is it true he slay the beef and slept with a tech?
What s the position you hold? Can you really match
a triple platinum artist buck by buck by only a single goin gold?
Roc-A-Fella ship fold, and you re left out in the cold
Is it back to charging motherfuckers 11 for an O
For the millionth time askin me
Questions like Wendy Williams, harrassin me
then get upset when I catch feelings
Can I get a minute to breathe? And in that minute you leave
While I m looking at my Rol ice spinnin on my sleeve
Uh, nice watch, do you really have a spot?
Like you said in Friend or Foe and if so, what block?
What you doin in L.A., with phillipinos and ese s
Latinos and Cheve s, down by Pico withh Frederico
I answer all your questions but then y all got to go
Now the question I ask you is how bad you want to know? BLAOW!
Roc-A-Fella y all, uhh, uh
Know my style
Motherfuckers can t rhyme no more, bout crime no more
Til I m no more, cause I m so raw
My flow expose holes that they find in yours
Wasn t for me, niggaz still be dying for whores
But I hate when a nigga sit back, admirin yours
Young blood you better get that, we frying baccars
Niggaz don t want to be confined to riding the iron horse
And don t listen to the rappers, they dying to floss
I used to be O.T., applyin the force
Shoot up the whole block, then the iron I toss
Come back with the click playing Diana Ross
I m the boss and this is how it s gonna be
Burnt the turnpike, wild miles on the V
I got mouths to feed till they put flowers on me
And kiss my cold cheek, chicks crying like I was Cochise
Tombstone read He Was Holdin No Leaks
Started from the crack game and then so sweet
Freaked it to the rap game, Jigga the old-G
On MTV, telling em how I sold D
And used to back work up out of apartment 4-B
Me and my homie, started out coldies
Picked the mailbox lock cause I ain t have no key
Had the cable with the anchor when Jaz made Sophie
Then I went low key, but now I m back it s on
Motherfuckers
Jigga, uh-huh, yeah
Roc-A-Fella y all
Uhh, feel this
Somebody s pulling me closer to the ground
I ain t panicked, I been here before
Seems like only yesterday when I got up on that stage
In front of that crowd
And showed them who was who, and what was what
Man look at these suckers
I ain t no rapper, I m a hustler
It just so happens that I know how to rap
Okay, I m reloaded!
(music drops in)
[Jay-Z]
I did it again niggaz
Fucked up, right? I know
I know what y all niggaz asking yourself
Is he gonna ever fall off?
No...
...a lot of speculation
on the monies I ve made, honeys I ve slayed
How is he for real? Is that nigga really paid?
Hustlers I ve met or, dealt with direct
Is it true he slay the beef and slept with a tech?
What s the position you hold? Can you really match
a triple platinum artist buck by buck by only a single goin gold?
Roc-A-Fella ship fold, and you re left out in the cold
Is it back to charging motherfuckers 11 for an O
For the millionth time askin me
Questions like Wendy Williams, harrassin me
then get upset when I catch feelings
Can I get a minute to breathe? And in that minute you leave
While I m looking at my Rol ice spinnin on my sleeve
Uh, nice watch, do you really have a spot?
Like you said in Friend or Foe and if so, what block?
What you doin in L.A., with phillipinos and ese s
Latinos and Cheve s, down by Pico withh Frederico
I answer all your questions but then y all got to go
Now the question I ask you is how bad you want to know? BLAOW!
Roc-A-Fella y all, uhh, uh
Know my style
Motherfuckers can t rhyme no more, bout crime no more
Til I m no more, cause I m so raw
My flow expose holes that they find in yours
Wasn t for me, niggaz still be dying for whores
But I hate when a nigga sit back, admirin yours
Young blood you better get that, we frying baccars
Niggaz don t want to be confined to riding the iron horse
And don t listen to the rappers, they dying to floss
I used to be O.T., applyin the force
Shoot up the whole block, then the iron I toss
Come back with the click playing Diana Ross
I m the boss and this is how it s gonna be
Burnt the turnpike, wild miles on the V
I got mouths to feed till they put flowers on me
And kiss my cold cheek, chicks crying like I was Cochise
Tombstone read He Was Holdin No Leaks
Started from the crack game and then so sweet
Freaked it to the rap game, Jigga the old-G
On MTV, telling em how I sold D
And used to back work up out of apartment 4-B
Me and my homie, started out coldies
Picked the mailbox lock cause I ain t have no key
Had the cable with the anchor when Jaz made Sophie
Then I went low key, but now I m back it s on
Motherfuckers
Jigga, uh-huh, yeah
Roc-A-Fella y all
Uhh, feel this
