[Intro: Styles P]
B.E.T., get your recorders
You are rockin' with the Ghost, Papoose and Lupe the skateboarder
Welcome to the cypher, the beginnin' of rap
Before record deals, first I'ma toss it to Pap'
[Verse 1: Papoose]
Over one hundred soldiers died this month; I drop info
Out of a hundred, the majority was negroes
George Bush is on a roll like a round hero
They still findin' human remains at Ground Zero
They found 'em in the sewers, yeah, it shows, aw, man yo
I guess that's why they call it a manhole
When we say B.E.T, we ain't tryna spell bet
Black Entertainment, Papoose is the best
Nacirema, wait 'til my album drop
He hop up, I clap him in his hip, you can call it hip-hop
Rappers be actin' like they tougher than they really is
So I sit 'em in wheelchairs like Jada Pinkett kids
You was puttin' your sneakers on the wrong feet
When Papoose was reppin' for the streets, magnifique
You might as well face your defeat, look, partner
I had you lookin' at defeat like a foot doctor
[Verse 2: Lupe Fiasco]
Uh
They say the game has the belly of a beast
Blunts for fingers and hollow tips for teeth
Wiretaps for ears; Nike Airs for feet
Blasphemy for prayers; the system for a heart
Rap music for beats; heroin for the son
And he's married to the streets; crack pipes for lungs
And he never sleeps, just spies with dice in his eyes
Love life, 'cause he like when it dies
With baking soda soul he cough up pleasure
Clothes made out of dollar bills that he sewed together
He knows he's clever, jail is his house
All the liquor that pours out and goes right in his mouth
Rides around on a stray bullet with prostitutes
Pimps, dope dealers and killers tied to it to pull it
TV in his head, strippers slide down his legs
And he known to ride around with the Feds
He's out there, out there, out there, out there, out there, son
B.E.T., get your recorders
You are rockin' with the Ghost, Papoose and Lupe the skateboarder
Welcome to the cypher, the beginnin' of rap
Before record deals, first I'ma toss it to Pap'
[Verse 1: Papoose]
Over one hundred soldiers died this month; I drop info
Out of a hundred, the majority was negroes
George Bush is on a roll like a round hero
They still findin' human remains at Ground Zero
They found 'em in the sewers, yeah, it shows, aw, man yo
I guess that's why they call it a manhole
When we say B.E.T, we ain't tryna spell bet
Black Entertainment, Papoose is the best
Nacirema, wait 'til my album drop
He hop up, I clap him in his hip, you can call it hip-hop
Rappers be actin' like they tougher than they really is
So I sit 'em in wheelchairs like Jada Pinkett kids
You was puttin' your sneakers on the wrong feet
When Papoose was reppin' for the streets, magnifique
You might as well face your defeat, look, partner
I had you lookin' at defeat like a foot doctor
[Verse 2: Lupe Fiasco]
Uh
They say the game has the belly of a beast
Blunts for fingers and hollow tips for teeth
Wiretaps for ears; Nike Airs for feet
Blasphemy for prayers; the system for a heart
Rap music for beats; heroin for the son
And he's married to the streets; crack pipes for lungs
And he never sleeps, just spies with dice in his eyes
Love life, 'cause he like when it dies
With baking soda soul he cough up pleasure
Clothes made out of dollar bills that he sewed together
He knows he's clever, jail is his house
All the liquor that pours out and goes right in his mouth
Rides around on a stray bullet with prostitutes
Pimps, dope dealers and killers tied to it to pull it
TV in his head, strippers slide down his legs
And he known to ride around with the Feds
He's out there, out there, out there, out there, out there, son
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