2009 BET Hip Hop Awards - Cypher 1 BET (Ft. Buckshot, Crown Royyal, Joe Budden & Nicki Minaj)
On this page, discover the full lyrics of the song "2009 BET Hip Hop Awards - Cypher 1" by BET (Ft. Buckshot, Crown Royyal, Joe Budden & Nicki Minaj). Lyrxo.com offers the most comprehensive and accurate lyrics, helping you connect with the music you love on a deeper level. Ideal for dedicated fans and anyone who appreciates quality music.
[Verse 1: Nicki Minaj]
Uh
Call me Dracula, 'cause all I do is count chips
Your money mini, I ain't talkin' 'bout the mouse, trick
These girls runnin' like I just threw the bouquet
They know I'm headed to the top like a toupee
Now all the bums is wonderin' where I be's at
If you ain't a Barbie, it's none of ya freakin' beeswax
These little rappers, I can see them in my dash cam
I know they grouchy like Oscar up out the trash can
I'm on stage; you can sit in the crowd
I be up in Lear jets, make a left at the cloud, haha
I think she need the Heimlich; she the chokin' kind
She gets no burn, no smokin' sign
Yeah, metaphor heaven
So they approve Nicki like my credit score seven
Mac and cheese, six, fried chicken da guts
And I'm killing these bitches, Mike Vickin' it up, yeah
[Verse 2: Buckshot]
Don't play with Buck; I'm not a video game
I'm so serious, put so many holes in your brain
You oblivious to the fact you oh, period
Who the ass said, who the ass meant "Y'all, there he is!"
Look, neck full of high-class diamonds
The wrist lookin' like it made a trip to Mohammed
In the Colosseum or Harlem or Canal
You cop jewels by the pennyweight, I go by the pound
Anyway, I go by the sound, not by the style
So when you cop my CD, you can go out of town
Go outta bounds? I'm blowin' the whistle: referee
BDP, y'all know I'm official, y'all go, I'ma tissue
Y'all dudes is shit, you'll go lights out, wiped out
Can't outwit me, outsmart me or outfit me
Listen, this my year
I got the arsenal with me, this my [?]
Uh
Call me Dracula, 'cause all I do is count chips
Your money mini, I ain't talkin' 'bout the mouse, trick
These girls runnin' like I just threw the bouquet
They know I'm headed to the top like a toupee
Now all the bums is wonderin' where I be's at
If you ain't a Barbie, it's none of ya freakin' beeswax
These little rappers, I can see them in my dash cam
I know they grouchy like Oscar up out the trash can
I'm on stage; you can sit in the crowd
I be up in Lear jets, make a left at the cloud, haha
I think she need the Heimlich; she the chokin' kind
She gets no burn, no smokin' sign
Yeah, metaphor heaven
So they approve Nicki like my credit score seven
Mac and cheese, six, fried chicken da guts
And I'm killing these bitches, Mike Vickin' it up, yeah
[Verse 2: Buckshot]
Don't play with Buck; I'm not a video game
I'm so serious, put so many holes in your brain
You oblivious to the fact you oh, period
Who the ass said, who the ass meant "Y'all, there he is!"
Look, neck full of high-class diamonds
The wrist lookin' like it made a trip to Mohammed
In the Colosseum or Harlem or Canal
You cop jewels by the pennyweight, I go by the pound
Anyway, I go by the sound, not by the style
So when you cop my CD, you can go out of town
Go outta bounds? I'm blowin' the whistle: referee
BDP, y'all know I'm official, y'all go, I'ma tissue
Y'all dudes is shit, you'll go lights out, wiped out
Can't outwit me, outsmart me or outfit me
Listen, this my year
I got the arsenal with me, this my [?]
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