| All these ******s really know my at bat average, | |
| ridiculous rap patterns | |
| And ****** what you know, this Youngen got the coldest beats | |
| All my old hoes laying in the coldest sheets | |
| Even if they married they still can't get over me | |
| You 0 for 3 | |
| , I'm shooting a hundred right from the field now | |
| I'm just a Fresh Prince, buzzing like Uncle Phil's child | |
| And I Will style, peace to all my Hilary's | |
| Stuffin' money in banks, | |
| hitting Marilyn's like a Kennedy | |
| And if you feeling me, just let me know it | |
| 'Cos I just set the stage and get these words off like a poet | |
| I'm Robert Frost cold on these hoes, I just give them the | |
| Edgar Allen Poe up | |
| Sippin something expensive and party 'till they throw up | |
| All my ******s roll up, until the cops show up | |
| My momma says momma's son is a millionaire\" | |
| And just for that, throw your ones up in the air | |
| This is Freshman Adjustment meets Late Registration | |
| Connected up with the kings all 'cos of Ricky's relations | |
| Tell the ****** I've been studying since I started creating | |
| Now all these ******s is hating, waiting, judging, debating | |
| Tryin' to charge me with a flagrant, but I will not stop | |
| They tryin' to Derek Fisher the boy, but I will not flop | |
| Instead I take it bassline, like Kobe | |
| And I play my own drums and basslines, you know me, homie | |
| I'm getting courted by the bosses | |
| The Ye's, the Hov's, the Puff's, and all them ******'s who's notorious for flossing | |
| Known to be in places these ******s ain't never heard of | |
| and watched thrones up in the Mercer | |
| Sign my signature in cursive for them incidentals | |
| Then we got ****** up off that | |
| Ace | |
| listening to instrumentals | |
| I came a long way from that place where ******s can't wait to get you | |
| And now you copped your favorite mag and I'm in the latest issue | |
| And all the ******* I could never bag, they steadily claiming they miss you | |
| And it's a shame when I get the low-fade | |
| Have all these women feeling like the fourth grade | |
| Cru*******n on a Youngen, 'cos they know I'm so paid | |
| Once I get the digits consider me so laid | |
| And none of this *******t is fiction cos really I don't play | |
| I changed up my old ways, to kill 'em like OJ | |
| Remind them of a young Mike, fresh J's and a gold chain | |
| I stay tailored like politicians, but ****** like I'm out on bond | |
| Women catching feelings trying to be my first son mom | |
| But I'm catching millions tying to be the first one on | |
| And my CD, do you feel me, | |
| if you coming, come on | |
| IE ******, I'm a IE ****** | |
| Went from Colton High School to the widescreen ****** | |
| Couldn't walk in my shoes or jog by me ****** | |
| Since I play by my rules I acquired these figures | |
| Now a ****** got enough to supersize, ride with him | |
| No surprise, all these Benjamins inside my denim | |
| Couldn't be the ****** sitting on the sideline benching | |
| Open minds will be the ones to oblige my vision | |
| Televise my mission, on channel 5, see me in the news | |
| They monitor my every move, wanna see me lose | |
| Hear the *******t I spit like \"what the ****** has gotten into you?\" | |
| I got 'em tuned in like a Jay-Z interview |
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