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(Chorus: Cee-Lo, Royce the 5'9") |
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Give me a mountain. Give me a sea |
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Put your mind on wonderland, be what you want to be. Wooow |
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It's Politics. Ha my nigga |
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Politics. Ha my nigga |
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Politics. Ha my nigga |
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Politics. Ha my nigga |
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Politics. Ha my nigga |
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Politics. Ha my nigga |
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Politics. Ha my nigga |
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Politics. Ha my nigga |
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(Royce Da 5'9") |
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Seven years and countin, I've been accounting |
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For unaccountable rap problems |
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'Cause accountant countin his rap dollars |
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The ice watch on the sleeve of the white collar |
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Leanin like the Pisa towser, he's in power |
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Standing on top of the black bottom |
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You should pack up now that the dirty glove is with me |
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Take your hat off inside of the mitten when you spittin |
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'Cause you can get it for sure |
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Your whole rap clapped up out you |
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If I don't get you back up |
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Got you in a morgue sittin stiff in the drawer |
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Niggaz I can't be caught, I can't be bought |
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They call me the anti-core, anti-talk |
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Anti, when it comes to gettin the kind of hugs |
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That come from a fake thug |
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That show me a sign of love |
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Who am I to judge but you would not out of love |
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Walk up if I was washed up like a Tsunami flood |
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I ain't trying to bug |
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But that's why you got to shove |
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Come on.. |
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(Chorus) |
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(Royce Da 5'9") |
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Excuse me while I school them on how to pay these dues |
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Tell whoever jealous and want to slay me, cool |
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The whole game got the old bland of Mercedes blues |
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Everybody wanna fill Jay-Z shoes |
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I call it the Ferrari sniffs, the Phantom flu |
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'Cause y'all sick, what already exists, can't be you |
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I told y'all niggaz in oh-two that I can't be touched |
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Yo bitch call me sugar dick with the candy nuts |
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But ain't shit sweet, don't get it twisted |
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I'll beat yo ass, I don't need wine, I don't need cash |
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I'll stick a sock in any nigga mouth in any market |
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If he talkin, he a target, walk in his apartment |
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While he drinkin, spark him 'til he leakin, coughin Remy Martin |
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'Cause if I flip my lid, you'd have to toss him in the garbage |
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Is nothin to toughen you out, f**k is you frontin about |
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We cuttin you in, I'm cuttin you out |
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(Chorus) |
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(Royce Da 5'9") |
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Royce five nine is a prophet, in every sense of the word |
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Superb finisher, administer words like ministers |
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The tall tales of the low sales of a poet |
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Centuries rolled up in the pen that he holds up |
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He holds it to holy grail, when he saw the soul |
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he was since told his flows, the Davinci code decoded |
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Since chosen, he prays harder |
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But everytime he spot a rival revolvers inside |
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His bible like, Gregory Heins with the rage of Harlem |
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Po-po's harder, team free-on, we so cold |
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Red like beam be on sight, we got weed neon green |
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We got a one yay, Celine Deion white, green |
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Your last breath, you about five heartbeats away from death |
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'Cause you the leon type, so muahh |
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Make you rest in peace |
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No more records bein sold, less is me |
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Five nine, unsigned |
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(Chorus) |
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(Spoken Word - Royce) |
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Yeahh, Royce Da 5'9", my nigga Nottz |
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This is a M.I.C and teams with collaboration |
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Ladies and gentleman, I would like to introduce to you, Cee-Lo Green. Let's go |
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(Royce and Cee-Lo) |
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Give me a mountain. (Dream my nigga). Give me a sea |
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(All my niggaz dealin with the politics). Put your mind on wonderland |
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(I smell you my nigga). Be what you want to be. (Dream my nigga) |
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It's politics my nigga. (repeat 8X) |
