| (I think I’m ready, man
|
| I’m ready to rap)
|
| Nigga, you just talkin shit, man
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| I don’t wanna hear that shit
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| (Hey, I’m ready, man)
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| Man, you been sayin that shit
|
| (I'm ready to put it down)
|
| Yeah, yeah…
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| (Show you that I’m down)
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| Ha-ha, alright, alright
|
| We’ll see, man
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| This ain’t no game, though
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| Here, smoke some of this weed, so you can feel fine
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| And you just might need a drink, you gotta think of a rhyme
|
| We can make the beat slow, so you can speed up the flow
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| With some cool pimp shit about some weed or some hoes
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| Or supposed you do a song that you can jam with foreign dancers
|
| Or some growin-up-hard shit with slim to none chances
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| Maybe a familiar tune people already heard
|
| Let’s call Morris, see how much he want for a bird
|
| Or fuck it, fuck it, let’s strictly go pop
|
| Do anything for the women while mis-representin your block
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| You can be famous in public with the right music and subject
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| You can make millions, nigga, if you just make that million love it
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| Imagine, you havin world tours, gettin paid
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| Hoes throwin panties on the stage, gettin laid
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| You don’t have a Benz, but if you get on the mic and spit it
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| You will have enough to get it, whatever you do, I’m with it
|
| All you gots to do is (write)
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| Share your problems with the world, tell the story of your life
|
| All you gots to do is (write)
|
| And they’ll be right by your side, everything gon' be tight
|
| But when you’re wrong, muthafuckas gonna talk about ya
|
| When you’re wrong, muthafuckas gonna criticise ya
|
| When you’re wrong, muthafuckas gonna talk about ya
|
| When you’re wrong…
|
| (Some tell you it’s a art, some tell you it’s a shame)
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| Now just be real with what you say and put some feelin up in it
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| And since everybody’s dyin, put some killin up in it
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| I be right here by your side smokin kill until you’re finished
|
| And if you get writer’s block, then nigga, chill for a minute
|
| And hold up, okay, I got a tight idea
|
| Just rap like you mad, the baddest muthafucka out here
|
| Then bitches will respect ya, niggas might try to check ya
|
| Nuts, money didn’t getcha while them laws steady fetch ya
|
| But think about it — you got it? |
| Then write it down
|
| Try your best to remember, don’t worry now on how it sounds
|
| It’s gonna be cool, and if you gonna keep rappin, it’s on
|
| Just sacrifice your life and leave your problems at home
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| Now there’s a million muthafuckas like yourself think they deserve it
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| If they get it before they do, they got to get they hands dirty
|
| So just study these lines and make sure you don’t forget it
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| Get on the mic and spit it, whatever you do, I’m with it
|
| Now the world is your arena, and the panel of judges
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| Made up of pimps, players, sneaky bitches, con-men and hustlers
|
| I don’t know why, but to qualify you must become one of these
|
| Make somethin happen with either rappin or sellin some cheese
|
| What, you’re scared? |
| Nigga, shit, this ain’t the game to be in
|
| If you can’t do for you and yours, then how you think you gon' win?
|
| Now where your niggas at? |
| Get em together, then flip
|
| Now where them bitches at? |
| Buy em whatever to sip
|
| But see, you can’t get player points taken away, so come real
|
| Disregard people’s emotions, give a fuck how one feels
|
| And you can witness other brothers walkin in the same path
|
| Wishin for champagne, caviar, and bubble bath
|
| You see, ah, that’s the life that I lead
|
| And if you wanna follow a model, sit right by me
|
| And I can pass you some weed, you fry it up, but let me hit it
|
| But get on the mic and spit it, whatever you do, I’m with it |