People Like Myself Lyrics
| Song | People Like Myself |
| Artist | Timbaland & Magoo |
| Artist | YoungStar |
| Album | Indecent proposal |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Barcliff, Mosley, Mosley | |
| People like myself, only hang with self cause that's the way to go | |
| I can't go outside without findin some new kinfolks | |
| People on my left, people on my right, all in my earhole | |
| Make be like whoa and find me somewhere else to go | |
| [repeat chorus] | |
| [magoo] | |
| It's mag from your tv screen, buzzin off the jim beam | |
| But the mag y'all think y'all know ain't what i seem | |
| I'm a low-down freak from seapeak(?) | |
| See them high school mates, i see 'em and don't speak | |
| All y'all wanna talk like we used to hang | |
| Cause i'm doin my thang, now you wanna bask in my fame | |
| That's why i stay out the club, be in the crib | |
| Smokin a dub, countin my cash, over the phone | |
| And i'm sellin cell phones, all with chips | |
| My nine to bloods, my glock to crips, who want war? | |
| You and your boys can bring the noise | |
| But i'ma bring hand grenades, now you're laid! | |
| Pull out my ****, piss on your *****-ass | |
| Sit on your face, now you gotta kiss ass | |
| Who fiend for fame life belong to your fans | |
| And haters and thugs that wanna end your lifespan | |
| [chorus] | |
| [timbaland] | |
| Uhh, uhh, uhh - since i got bigger (bigger) | |
| I'm over here and y'all recite tim's my ***** (*****) | |
| Like i just figure (figure) | |
| And my tracks didn't help ****** | |
| So for rememdy i pound ****** | |
| Like i keep 'em in dj's for that new jigga | |
| Like them forty-two girbauds | |
| I pocket every demo, like timbaland - he's that next ***** | |
| Confirmed by people that she can blow | |
| Convinced booker t she's the next to go | |
| Now i'm checkin every joint and every unit i sold | |
| Once i'm deep in the dough, i'm deep with a crew | |
| In the 80's y'all screamed like the movie is through | |
| Y'all screamin this is 'nutty professor: part ii' | |
| To 'eyes wide shut' to whoever i choose | |
| I can appreciate a kidman to a, tom cruise | |
| To a, fast food, i'm strictly drive-through | |
| The money i gave dudes i basically raised fools | |
| [chorus] | |
| [magoo] | |
| Even the phone spit it, god know what i'm thinkin | |
| I'm drinkin and smokin and stressin, go to church for confession | |
| Down on my knees, beggin to god, show me the path | |
| My label is jerkin me workin me so the devil can lurk in me | |
| Sick of ****** *****in, wishin i'd fail | |
| Tell 'em mag be the rap effin kenan and kel | |
| I'm spittin the version of verses curses over the churches | |
| Rappin mo' iller than thriller manila and give you salmonella | |
| [timbaland] | |
| Stop, the press! | |
| *****, you can't afford that dress, you can't afford that hairdo | |
| I don't want your ***, here take your fast food | |
| 'tim you're dead wrong, tim you're dead rude!' | |
| Hey girl, i don't even know you | |
| 'timbaland we're your first cousin marion sue' | |
| My momma never ever mentioned you | |
| My momma also told me to watch them savage boos, what? | |
| [chorus: sung by static - repeat 2x] |
| zuo ci : Barcliff, Mosley, Mosley | |
| People like myself, only hang with self cause that' s the way to go | |
| I can' t go outside without findin some new kinfolks | |
| People on my left, people on my right, all in my earhole | |
| Make be like whoa and find me somewhere else to go | |
| repeat chorus | |
| magoo | |
| It' s mag from your tv screen, buzzin off the jim beam | |
| But the mag y' all think y' all know ain' t what i seem | |
| I' m a lowdown freak from seapeak? | |
| See them high school mates, i see ' em and don' t speak | |
| All y' all wanna talk like we used to hang | |
| Cause i' m doin my thang, now you wanna bask in my fame | |
| That' s why i stay out the club, be in the crib | |
| Smokin a dub, countin my cash, over the phone | |
| And i' m sellin cell phones, all with chips | |
| My nine to bloods, my glock to crips, who want war? | |
| You and your boys can bring the noise | |
| But i' ma bring hand grenades, now you' re laid! | |
| Pull out my , piss on your ass | |
| Sit on your face, now you gotta kiss ass | |
| Who fiend for fame life belong to your fans | |
| And haters and thugs that wanna end your lifespan | |
| chorus | |
| timbaland | |
| Uhh, uhh, uhh since i got bigger bigger | |
| I' m over here and y' all recite tim' s my | |
| Like i just figure figure | |
| And my tracks didn' t help | |
| So for rememdy i pound | |
| Like i keep ' em in dj' s for that new jigga | |
| Like them fortytwo girbauds | |
| I pocket every demo, like timbaland he' s that next | |
| Confirmed by people that she can blow | |
| Convinced booker t she' s the next to go | |
| Now i' m checkin every joint and every unit i sold | |
| Once i' m deep in the dough, i' m deep with a crew | |
| In the 80' s y' all screamed like the movie is through | |
| Y' all screamin this is ' nutty professor: part ii' | |
| To ' eyes wide shut' to whoever i choose | |
| I can appreciate a kidman to a, tom cruise | |
| To a, fast food, i' m strictly drivethrough | |
| The money i gave dudes i basically raised fools | |
| chorus | |
| magoo | |
| Even the phone spit it, god know what i' m thinkin | |
| I' m drinkin and smokin and stressin, go to church for confession | |
| Down on my knees, beggin to god, show me the path | |
| My label is jerkin me workin me so the devil can lurk in me | |
| Sick of in, wishin i' d fail | |
| Tell ' em mag be the rap effin kenan and kel | |
| I' m spittin the version of verses curses over the churches | |
| Rappin mo' iller than thriller manila and give you salmonella | |
| timbaland | |
| Stop, the press! | |
| , you can' t afford that dress, you can' t afford that hairdo | |
| I don' t want your , here take your fast food | |
| ' tim you' re dead wrong, tim you' re dead rude!' | |
| Hey girl, i don' t even know you | |
| ' timbaland we' re your first cousin marion sue' | |
| My momma never ever mentioned you | |
| My momma also told me to watch them savage boos, what? | |
| chorus: sung by static repeat 2x |
| zuò cí : Barcliff, Mosley, Mosley | |
| People like myself, only hang with self cause that' s the way to go | |
| I can' t go outside without findin some new kinfolks | |
| People on my left, people on my right, all in my earhole | |
| Make be like whoa and find me somewhere else to go | |
| repeat chorus | |
| magoo | |
| It' s mag from your tv screen, buzzin off the jim beam | |
| But the mag y' all think y' all know ain' t what i seem | |
| I' m a lowdown freak from seapeak? | |
| See them high school mates, i see ' em and don' t speak | |
| All y' all wanna talk like we used to hang | |
| Cause i' m doin my thang, now you wanna bask in my fame | |
| That' s why i stay out the club, be in the crib | |
| Smokin a dub, countin my cash, over the phone | |
| And i' m sellin cell phones, all with chips | |
| My nine to bloods, my glock to crips, who want war? | |
| You and your boys can bring the noise | |
| But i' ma bring hand grenades, now you' re laid! | |
| Pull out my , piss on your ass | |
| Sit on your face, now you gotta kiss ass | |
| Who fiend for fame life belong to your fans | |
| And haters and thugs that wanna end your lifespan | |
| chorus | |
| timbaland | |
| Uhh, uhh, uhh since i got bigger bigger | |
| I' m over here and y' all recite tim' s my | |
| Like i just figure figure | |
| And my tracks didn' t help | |
| So for rememdy i pound | |
| Like i keep ' em in dj' s for that new jigga | |
| Like them fortytwo girbauds | |
| I pocket every demo, like timbaland he' s that next | |
| Confirmed by people that she can blow | |
| Convinced booker t she' s the next to go | |
| Now i' m checkin every joint and every unit i sold | |
| Once i' m deep in the dough, i' m deep with a crew | |
| In the 80' s y' all screamed like the movie is through | |
| Y' all screamin this is ' nutty professor: part ii' | |
| To ' eyes wide shut' to whoever i choose | |
| I can appreciate a kidman to a, tom cruise | |
| To a, fast food, i' m strictly drivethrough | |
| The money i gave dudes i basically raised fools | |
| chorus | |
| magoo | |
| Even the phone spit it, god know what i' m thinkin | |
| I' m drinkin and smokin and stressin, go to church for confession | |
| Down on my knees, beggin to god, show me the path | |
| My label is jerkin me workin me so the devil can lurk in me | |
| Sick of in, wishin i' d fail | |
| Tell ' em mag be the rap effin kenan and kel | |
| I' m spittin the version of verses curses over the churches | |
| Rappin mo' iller than thriller manila and give you salmonella | |
| timbaland | |
| Stop, the press! | |
| , you can' t afford that dress, you can' t afford that hairdo | |
| I don' t want your , here take your fast food | |
| ' tim you' re dead wrong, tim you' re dead rude!' | |
| Hey girl, i don' t even know you | |
| ' timbaland we' re your first cousin marion sue' | |
| My momma never ever mentioned you | |
| My momma also told me to watch them savage boos, what? | |
| chorus: sung by static repeat 2x |
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