Lyrics A Message from Poet - Madlib, Sam Baker

A Message from Poet

My back is behind the brick wall
I got a mad truck two inches from my face
(Uh-huh, uh-huh, oh yeah, yeah)
It must be so easy, just turn around and go
Jump all the wires, hookers and hang-ups, and you’re home free
(Uh-huh, uh-huh, oh yeah, yeah)
Part of the natural order, made to order by your forever clever mind
Constantly rejecting your things you no longer need to be protected
Ayo, Summerjam live, Jigga goin' at Nas
Yo, what’s goin' on with these guys
Next thing you know, Nas goin' at Jay
Ether to the dome tried to blow him away
Motherfuckers wanna make it to some Queensbridge Marcy shit
Believe me, New York, we don’t wanna spark this shit
We still rebuildin', these women and children
The whole shit will turn to Ground Zero if we start illin'
Look at Foxy and Kim, what’s wrong with them
Both of them platinum, used to be bitches
Now they wanna give each other stitches, damn
Is that how it is, when niggas get riches
You got 50 with Ja, 50 with Jay
50 with anybody that get in 50 way
G-Unit, Jadakiss and Beanie
That’s a ill one believe me
They should take it to T. V
Cam’ron and Esco who got the best flow
DMX, whoa, goin' at ya little bro'
And the whole Roc-A-Fella wanna get at Jaz-O
Eminem, come on now that’s a no-no
Disrespectin' your moms we don’t play that shit, yo
Even as a crack fiend mama, black queen mama
You heard 2Pac and that’s the king of drama
Dr. Dre should’ve told ya
But he to busy goin' at Jermaine Dupri to show ya
But Blaq Poet pull a trigger
We know you nice, forget you white just rep it right nigga
I look over at the westside
I see Snoop, Suge, Xzibit 'bout to collide
And make some real nigga wanna cry
It’s like niggas forgot about Pac and B-I
The only way to settle this;
battle it out
And leave the gats at the house
All these niggas is rich
Nobody wanna die, nobody really wanna kill eachother
Everybody just need to fall back
Take your hands off of me, I know what I’m doing
My baby left me, I don’t feel like doing
Get your hands off me I’m gonna call the cops
Could you pass me my rum and coke on the —
Hey, my rum and coke, I paid for it
Can ya, can ya get it —
Ten, nine, eight