| Lemme tell y’all a lil story about myself
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| This right here is a true story, check it out though
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| Ulcers hurt my salary, alter my personality
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| Give it to you real, I can’t feed my culture no fallacy
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| You know my attitude, arrogant, cocky rude
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| Eatin off papi food, used to be a stocky dude
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| Weighed two-twenty, wit two honies, I move monie
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| It’s true dummy, dunny need a new tummy
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| I become berserk, it was no fun to work
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| Everyday my stomach hurt, rippin off my undershirt
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| The pain was no comparison, stomach started cherishin
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| Throwin up in public, yo fuck it, it was embarrassin
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| Regurgitatin, green, yellow, burgundy, Boom
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| But came my urgency soon, (what) the emergency room (oh)
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| In there, no salvage, treated like a cold savage
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| They said pimpin symptoms, huh, a dope addicts
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| There you have it, but they ain’t find no heroin
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| Coke, crack, dope, just weed, but that’s my medicine
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| My baby mama, mama, and my grandma
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| Say that I’m too gordy (too gordy), word to my blue maurys
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| This is a true story
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| I got stomach pain, don’t matter sun or rain
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| Thought that it went away, uh oh, here it come again
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| Never mind stuntin, dime puffin, doc spent his time frontin
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| He like a bad detective, he ain’t find nuttin
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| Besides that though, I can’t enjoy a movie, dinner (why is that?)
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| My son growin up, I’m lookin like the movie thinner
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| I’m thinkin suicide, do or die, sit and cry (oh)
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| What hurt my baby moms askin if I’m gettin high (what the fuck you talkin about?
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| She gonna play me a thug, I told the lady I love
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| If it ain’t hustlin ma, please don’t relate me to drugs (at all)
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| I’m loosin weight though, everyday pounds and muscles
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| Gotta get off my ass, hit some towns and hustle
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| Bein sick, huh, it get sickenin you know
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| I was too sick to do shows, but still equipped to move O’s
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| You know my attitude, get it how I get it If I can shoot, I turn around (then) I’m off my pivot
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| And oops, I thought I had it mapped
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| Weight started to gain again, it was just a game my friend
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| Dame mane I pained again
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| Ay yo, god body, I’m hard bodied, word mommy, vanishin
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| Hadda go low, the male clinic, Minnesota
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| I couldn’t get cake, a rock in a hard place
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| For me, that’s a odd place, I’m only here by God’s grace
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| Like a lab rat, them tests dishonor Cam
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| Ultrasound, MIR, CAT scan, sonogram
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| Laparoscopy, inoscopy, I be stressed (I be stressed)
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| The prognosis, diagnosed, IBS
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| And that’s irritable bowel child, I hadda spit it y’all
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| Kick to y’all, so it ain’t my fault if I shit on y’all
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| Get it, get it, get it, get it? |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song I.B.S. , by - Cam'Ron. Song from the album Killa Season, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп