as soon as hip hop came out it was a music that i could grasp and identify with the millennium.
all round and round!
from the first to the last, it is in the passionate
clear shit! all my nigger want my..
the hip pop is dying out!
..my rap poem.
there's a certain mystique when i speak that you notice
cause it's sort of unique, cause you know it's me,
my poetry is deep and i'm still mad at the way i flow to this beat!
i can't stand still, it's like trying smoke crack and go to sleep,
i'm strapped it's known any minute i could snap,
i'm the equivalent of what would happen if bush rapped
i bully these rappers so bad lyrically
it ain't even funny, i ain't even hungry, it ain't even money
you can't pay me enough for you to play me
it's cockamanie you just ain't zany enough to rock with shady
my noodle is cock-a-doodle, my clock's coo-coo
i got screws loose, yea the whole kitten caboodle, i'm just brutal
it's no rumor, i'm numero uno, assume it
there's no more humor in it, no more you know
i'm rolling with a swollen bowling ball in my bag
you need a fag to come and tear a near hole in my ass!
young hov got the game in a frenzy
twenty million sold all independently,
so when you mention me
make sure you got together your 'semblies
like, "he's the games j.f.kennedy"
i started out, i ain't have no chimney
my ma was santa claus, well, at least she pretended to be
'til one night, well, that's if memory serves me correct
i caught her under the christmas tree.
young hov ain't have no pops
thank god, man, i had the block
ya'll hear me though
you young fucks got the game all wrong
this is my life, man, this ain't no song!
you ain't livin' your rhymes out, you live at your mom's house
in that tight-ass room, pullin' the cars out
and the mirror pointin' at your reflection, killing yourself
you american pie, stop feeling yourself!
i woke up early on my born day, i'm twenty years of blessing
the essence of adolescent leaves my body now i'm fresh in
my physical frame is celebrated cause i made it
one quarter through life some god-ly like thing created
got rhymes 365 days annual plus some
load up the mic and bust one, cuss while i puffs from
my skull cause it's pain in my brain vein money maintain
don't go against the grain simple and plain!
when i was young at this i used to do my thing hard
robbin' foreigners take they wallets they jewels and rip they green cards
dipped to the projects flashin' my quick cash
and got my first piece of ass smokin' blunts with hash
now it's all about cash in abundance, niggaz i used to run with
is rich or doin years in the hundreds
i switched my motto -- instead of sayin fuck tomorrow
that buck that bought a bottle could've struck the lotto.
once i stood on the block, loose cracks produce stacks
i cooked up and cut small pieces to get my loot back
time is illmatic keep static like wool fabric
pack a four-matic that crack your whole cabbage!