| Song | Wait Up |
| Artist | Q-Tip |
| Album | Amplified |
| We on a brand new page. Millennium days, | |
| desperation on the streets gotta find a new way | |
| Keep the mics and choke holds. The saga unfolds | |
| Machavellian approaches executed by the coach | |
| I'm in these streets like a ghost | |
| The air-jettin' artist | |
| To the love, I hit 'em right plus I hit the hardest, man | |
| I got a whole new approach for the rhymin' | |
| You cherry cats slide, I'm holdin out for the Heisman | |
| Uh! You play the rappin' roll | |
| I take the rap and sold, | |
| and intertwine it wit' mine and turn a half to whole | |
| I'm just a genie in a Jack bottle | |
| Them fake ballin'-ass cats is just a wack model | |
| This joint knocks wit' the force of a gat throttle | |
| I live by 'You put it out, we get it back' motto | |
| Hey. But who around but just your average reproduction, love | |
| Rap is gettin' lose so all the ice is screamin' 'Thug' | |
| What the hell is wrong? I'm askin' in this song | |
| One time I smoked hash out of the hippies' bong | |
| One of us is goin' laid 'cause I ain't gettin' played | |
| I leave you right inside that shitty-ass bed you made | |
| and walk along chuggin' Baller's Brains, rockin' rings | |
| and things and just waitin' for white rains | |
| I got the drive, dog. I hope the dogs' ready | |
| My mentality on dime chicks is stay sweaty | |
| Wait up. Your wait up. Wait up. | |
| Get your (";It's the Ummah for all time.";) wait up. | |
| Wait up. Your wait up. Wait up. | |
| Get your (";The Ummah forevea!";) wait up. | |
| Wait up. Your wait up. Wait up. | |
| Get your (";GET YOUR WAAAIIIIIIIIIIT...";) wait up. | |
| Wait up. Your wait up. Wait up. | |
| Get your (";..UP! UP! UP! UP! Yo!"; ) wait up. | |
| You wanna shoot dice or wanna shoot rounds? | |
| Wanna sell rhymes or wanna sell pounds? | |
| The decision is yours. I'd rather see tours, | |
| get chicks wit' ghetto shit fallin' out they drawers | |
| My team stay posted. They stay roasted | |
| Niggas who all in it had a hard knock livin' | |
| Administra, rhyme minista, illa treasura | |
| You didn't know that your man was a legend, huh? | |
| Embonishment for the both of you | |
| I hit the road and I take my whole fuckin' crew | |
| cause I'm a Queens cat. (";True.";) To the G's cat. (";True.";) | |
| Gettin' money for more than one needs cat. (";Aiiight, c'mon.";) | |
| Condition never peers and (";Take it home, kid.";) mind stands out | |
| From Seattle to South Beach my joint: grand clout | |
| It's the street commentator, providin' you wit' data | |
| on how to live unique and it's really not neat. We gotta... | |
| Wait up. Your wait up. Wait up. | |
| Get your (";Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah.";) wait up. | |
| Wait up. Your wait up. Wait up. | |
| Get your (";Brand new shit, huh.";) wait up. | |
| Wait up. Your wait up. Wait up. | |
| Get your (";GET YOUR WAAAIIIIIIIIIIT...";) wait up. | |
| Wait up. Your wait up. Wait up. | |
| Get your (";..UP! UP! UP! YEAH! HA-HAA...";) wait up. | |
| And all the fellas go, 'Yeah, yeah, yeah.' | |
| And all my ladies go, 'Uh, uh, uh.' | |
| And all the fellas go, 'Yeah, yeah, yeah.' | |
| And all the ladies go, 'Uh, uh, uh.' | |
| Fellas go, 'Where you at?' | |
| Ladies go, 'Yo, come back!' | |
| Fellas go...ladies go... | |
| Fellas go...ladies...yo... | |
| A mellow disposition even when it's pain | |
| Your mental ammunition is faulty wit' a drain | |
| I puts it down, Lord, Fuck a mic cord | |
| Brother's out of his game so we can see tours | |
| The innovator - your man still a hater | |
| The Abstract imprint, it stays like a Smint | |
| I got the masses cold, wigglin' and shakin' they ass | |
| Ma, you betta get involved and do it real fast | |
| (Beeping starts again but with instrumental backing it) |
| We on a brand new page. Millennium days, | |
| desperation on the streets gotta find a new way | |
| Keep the mics and choke holds. The saga unfolds | |
| Machavellian approaches executed by the coach | |
| I' m in these streets like a ghost | |
| The airjettin' artist | |
| To the love, I hit ' em right plus I hit the hardest, man | |
| I got a whole new approach for the rhymin' | |
| You cherry cats slide, I' m holdin out for the Heisman | |
| Uh! You play the rappin' roll | |
| I take the rap and sold, | |
| and intertwine it wit' mine and turn a half to whole | |
| I' m just a genie in a Jack bottle | |
| Them fake ballin' ass cats is just a wack model | |
| This joint knocks wit' the force of a gat throttle | |
| I live by ' You put it out, we get it back' motto | |
| Hey. But who around but just your average reproduction, love | |
| Rap is gettin' lose so all the ice is screamin' ' Thug' | |
| What the hell is wrong? I' m askin' in this song | |
| One time I smoked hash out of the hippies' bong | |
| One of us is goin' laid ' cause I ain' t gettin' played | |
| I leave you right inside that shittyass bed you made | |
| and walk along chuggin' Baller' s Brains, rockin' rings | |
| and things and just waitin' for white rains | |
| I got the drive, dog. I hope the dogs' ready | |
| My mentality on dime chicks is stay sweaty | |
| Wait up. Your wait up. Wait up. | |
| Get your " It' s the Ummah for all time." wait up. | |
| Wait up. Your wait up. Wait up. | |
| Get your " The Ummah forevea!" wait up. | |
| Wait up. Your wait up. Wait up. | |
| Get your " GET YOUR WAAAIIIIIIIIIIT..." wait up. | |
| Wait up. Your wait up. Wait up. | |
| Get your ".. UP! UP! UP! UP! Yo!" wait up. | |
| You wanna shoot dice or wanna shoot rounds? | |
| Wanna sell rhymes or wanna sell pounds? | |
| The decision is yours. I' d rather see tours, | |
| get chicks wit' ghetto shit fallin' out they drawers | |
| My team stay posted. They stay roasted | |
| Niggas who all in it had a hard knock livin' | |
| Administra, rhyme minista, illa treasura | |
| You didn' t know that your man was a legend, huh? | |
| Embonishment for the both of you | |
| I hit the road and I take my whole fuckin' crew | |
| cause I' m a Queens cat. " True." To the G' s cat. " True." | |
| Gettin' money for more than one needs cat. " Aiiight, c' mon." | |
| Condition never peers and " Take it home, kid." mind stands out | |
| From Seattle to South Beach my joint: grand clout | |
| It' s the street commentator, providin' you wit' data | |
| on how to live unique and it' s really not neat. We gotta... | |
| Wait up. Your wait up. Wait up. | |
| Get your " Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah." wait up. | |
| Wait up. Your wait up. Wait up. | |
| Get your " Brand new shit, huh." wait up. | |
| Wait up. Your wait up. Wait up. | |
| Get your " GET YOUR WAAAIIIIIIIIIIT..." wait up. | |
| Wait up. Your wait up. Wait up. | |
| Get your ".. UP! UP! UP! YEAH! HAHAA..." wait up. | |
| And all the fellas go, ' Yeah, yeah, yeah.' | |
| And all my ladies go, ' Uh, uh, uh.' | |
| And all the fellas go, ' Yeah, yeah, yeah.' | |
| And all the ladies go, ' Uh, uh, uh.' | |
| Fellas go, ' Where you at?' | |
| Ladies go, ' Yo, come back!' | |
| Fellas go... ladies go... | |
| Fellas go... ladies... yo... | |
| A mellow disposition even when it' s pain | |
| Your mental ammunition is faulty wit' a drain | |
| I puts it down, Lord, Fuck a mic cord | |
| Brother' s out of his game so we can see tours | |
| The innovator your man still a hater | |
| The Abstract imprint, it stays like a Smint | |
| I got the masses cold, wigglin' and shakin' they ass | |
| Ma, you betta get involved and do it real fast | |
| Beeping starts again but with instrumental backing it |