I'm MJG, the nigga with the versatile style Check your calendar realize that I been here for awhile When I was young I took the soul up out of rhythm and blues When hip hop originated slowly paid my dues And take my shoes, and try to walk a mile in my past Without them salt shaker sheisters tryin to get in that ass It's been too long, you motherfuckers fittin to feel the south Shut your mouth, shut your do you little freak ass hoe I'm bout tired of all this damn east and west coast shit Especially when other niggaz tryin to work in this bitch I paid my dues to the fullest, worked to god damn hard For you too kill the industry and leave me out of a job You niggaz strain yourself, to maintain yourself And now you playin with enough rope to actually hang yourself But you don't care, hell, you constantly fallin deep in the plot Mesmerized from all the bitches and the money you got You must of forgot they said that rap would never last ten years And if your selfish to the fact, I'm tryin to have a career Now listen here, what do we have, we got probable cause To keep the pen on the paper and the glock in your drawers, nigga
Remember back when we used to do this shit for fun Bein the dopest on my block made me ranked number one No gun, just a pen and notebook paper by the sheet In the crib, gettin funky off the next nigga beat No electronics to make the shit that I wrote the chronic Shit sick enough to bring vomit from your stomach Quick as a comet, shield your eyes from the UV Groovey, like a nigga from a Batman movie Real about the shit that I express over dope beats You can't say it was fake unless you grew up on my street Concrete head niggaz, runnin from FED niggaz, Po' ass scared niggaz, that came out dead niggaz And all I ever wanted to be was an emcee Did a little dirt and found it wasn't for me Poetry flowin through my bloodstream like a drug I'm addicted to rhyme because I love the buzz, nigga
[Chorus x2:]
My reason for rhyme Because I'm true to this rap My reason for rhyme Because I'm real with this rap My reason for rhyme It ain't all about the cheese Even though fat lp's can make a nigga g's
[Verse 2: MJG:]
My reason for rhymin, while I'm in, a position to be tellin It's not about the fame and them bitches who be yellin At my concerts, one verse, dicks up, quick fuck Lies start spreadin now you tangled in a mix up I gits up, do sits up, and squeeze my mental mindrame back in order And use my hand as a tape recorder Jottin down all the information placed in front of me The good time, the bad time, the way I think it oughta be Now follow G, can you comprehend? If you can then drink a shot of Hen Hit this hand on your silver end Friends don't be friends and foes don't be foes However the way you bring it, that's how you want it, I suppose I can stay up out the game keep my aim on my paper And I'll be sure to keep my pimpin real with Tony Draper And I'll potray the man that I'm known to be Dim the lights (Hip-tie) for the MJG
[Chorus x2]
[Verse 3: Eightball]
Give me a crowd of wild niggaz who love real hip hop And watched smoke get soaked up, like water in a mop Drop presidents among me and my own folk And let that bullshit walk among the past with ghosts Ain't no hope of bein takin seriously When limited avenues are given to me So, naturally I take shit and make shit mine Jackin only for position in this thing called rhyme Freestyle, not great, but if you wait for a second I could write some shit down that could get a gold record Thought about not the first thing that I think about MJG and Eightball and hard is how we comin out Runnin out, niggaz who can't hold on like En Vogue Even though I moved out the mound I'm still ten toed Down for the shit I do, the Suave House crew True to this shit, because this shit is so true
[Chorus x2:]
[End with shoutout]Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
