| Black people raise up, anger management cases to the front line
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| Your day’s up, children, I hope you didn’t quit your day jobs
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| Been in it, hosting shit like Canadian Asians host SARS
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| I’m kidding, no really pa, you’re fibbing, you rented your car
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| I’m spilling these phrases like seizure waitresses holding trays
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| This is greatness, the most endangered species on the playlist
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| Hey pay this, you fucks
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| No need to pay for a facelift you sluts
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| You slept, stupid I’m more dangerous than Michael’s face is
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| I cut through it like a machete’s built on my tongue
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| Leave you stitched up like Eeyore with your teeth all gums, you weak whore
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| The meek inherits now, but I speak veteran prose
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| Like I’m Tom Cruise in a wheelchair with my pants all sewn
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| Now how many times do I need to explain
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| You faggot Hannibal Lecter niggas, you all eat brain
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| I will damage your whole system, hack into your mainframe
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| Crack your bones like I’m cracking computer codes, I am not playing
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| I am not done spraying nigga, give me my mic back
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| Don’t ever, ever, ever try some shit even like that
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| I’m a con artist, a schemer, a dealer, a dope
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| That you feed to your ears through the speakers and feel it 'til it’s leaking
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| out your throat
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| Teacher, preacher, city-wide spelling champ
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| Your girl felt it so much, she started doing a bellydance
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| I’m heavy man, like an ACME safe in a cartoon
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| I’ll drop-catch you man, I’ll slam right into your car roof
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| I’m nasty, the antithesis of this mastery
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| Keep feeding you and feeding you with buckets of candy
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| Hand ransom notes to all cops at random
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| With the planted remote in the throat of the kidnapped grandson
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| For how many grams, one
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| Wait 'til they’re in range, then pull the little chain
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| Clothesline them just in time to see the boy’s exploding brains
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| I’m sick, I need help, I climb inside of a track
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| I tell them, I know what I’m doing those aren’t snares, those are slaps
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| One slap, two slaps, three slaps, four
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| Then I spaz out and stab — forget what the fuck I was counting for
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| Don’t fuck with me, please I’m asking nicely, back off
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| Put thumbtacks in my hands and grab your nuts, nigga cough
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| You don’t understand Jean, never in your life seen
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| A girl with more flow than an Iraqi soldier’s canteens
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| More ignored than a homeless on a train begging for change
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| More credit due to me than a store that doesn’t exchange
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| In Cali, rip ya mayne, New York, damage ya dog
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| Get on a plane, la voy aca el encima in Spain
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| I’m dead wrong, too smart to be beefing with little tarts
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| Jean turn your scream into murmurs like an irregular heartbeat
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| Hardly the amateur, can’t wait for the album tour
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| Fall come, I’m bringing the malice straight to your campus floor
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| Manhandle y’all, in France I’m Jean Van-Damnit
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| All writing hard like carving the Twelfth Commandment, naw
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| I didn’t skip one cause Biggie penned the eleventh
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| A moment of silence for all the fallen soldiers in heaven
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| Now moving along children
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| I screw with your whole vision like fog in the road, listen
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| Too hot and you know it, burn like a cock when you go piss
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| And there’s snot in the hole dripping and you gotta go to the clinic
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| Hey, I’m just guessing
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| Jean’s here to level the playing field
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| I don’t care about your spot or what you got for your record deal
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| I don’t care about your feelings or your marketing gimmicks
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| I just rap -- been here, you just wasn’t ready to hear it
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| I dropped Attack, critics hollered back with a thumbs-up
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| Exposing those who didn’t -- Oliver Wang, you dumb fuck
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| Untuck your spine, gun-butt you with a Super Soaker
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| Make you scream louder than the sound of the background vocals
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| Choke you with a magazine page, then in a rage
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| Flip you over like quarters on the back of your arm on Happy Days
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| I’ve written about life, I spitted about art
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| I represent the underground cause they’ve been with me from the start
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| No, Jean’s not hard now, Jean hasn’t changed
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| I was 18 on the first record, I’ve just experienced the game
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| Not a thug, not a drug seller, not a gun shooter
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| Not a stripper, sex symbol, or anything you’re used to
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| Marketing nightmare, I don’t fit into categories
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| I just rap, make beats and shit and sleep all these stories
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| All I want is a voice, all the people need is choice
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| If there’s no competition then what is the fucking point
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| You can’t win by default, unless you’re scared of a challenge
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| It’s not really a fair game if you don’t allow balance
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| What the fuck is a se… somebody get this woman a drink |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song You Don't Know, artist - Jean Grae. Album song The Bootleg of the Bootleg, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп