[Verse 1: Murs]
And I'm the four-letter word that you don't bleep out
Got a question for you rappers rollin' wit'cha heats out
Is this really where you wanna be when Jesus come back?
Lyin' 'bout your life, over beats comin' whack?
And you say I'm backpack, 'cause I don't have a gat
Man I just love life, and I'm dealin' with the facts
I'm young, I'm gifted, I'm beautiful, I'm black
And my momma didn't raise no fool like that
I understand that you broke, you tryin' to get money
But you don't start gangbangin' in your mid-20's
Don't know nothin' 'bout the "B", or the gang that you claimin'
You ain't even worth namin'!
But I got a right hook that'll vacate your Timberland's
Take this outside, set it straight like gentlemen
I do feel the music so I kinda respect it
But don't confuse ill lyrics with real street credit, come on
[Interlude: 9th Wonder]
Wat'chu gon' do man, huh?
Get knocked out
And we official like a referee with a whistle boy
Get it right man
My man Murs, yo, shut these cats down, holla!
[Verse 2: Murs]
I got my wallet in my pocket and my money in my sock
'Cause that's how it be when it's funny on the block
Like it be on TV when these dummies try to rock
With they secondhand flows like they runnin' on a clock
In a one minute cycle, I'm done with the rifles
The tecs, the 9's, the killers, the psychos
Look, now can we party?
And I want a Shirley Temple cause I don't drink Bacardi
But in a minute I'ma probably
Try to holler at a hottie with a, nice shaped body
If she's into what I'm into we should worship at my temple
I'ma, grind from behind as we wind to the tempo
If she break it down slow, then it feel like mo'
That's a Mayfield line for all of y'all who don't know
All I do is have fun and bring life to the fans
And I, don't need a gun cause I'm nice with my hands, come on
And I'm the four-letter word that you don't bleep out
Got a question for you rappers rollin' wit'cha heats out
Is this really where you wanna be when Jesus come back?
Lyin' 'bout your life, over beats comin' whack?
And you say I'm backpack, 'cause I don't have a gat
Man I just love life, and I'm dealin' with the facts
I'm young, I'm gifted, I'm beautiful, I'm black
And my momma didn't raise no fool like that
I understand that you broke, you tryin' to get money
But you don't start gangbangin' in your mid-20's
Don't know nothin' 'bout the "B", or the gang that you claimin'
You ain't even worth namin'!
But I got a right hook that'll vacate your Timberland's
Take this outside, set it straight like gentlemen
I do feel the music so I kinda respect it
But don't confuse ill lyrics with real street credit, come on
[Interlude: 9th Wonder]
Wat'chu gon' do man, huh?
Get knocked out
And we official like a referee with a whistle boy
Get it right man
My man Murs, yo, shut these cats down, holla!
[Verse 2: Murs]
I got my wallet in my pocket and my money in my sock
'Cause that's how it be when it's funny on the block
Like it be on TV when these dummies try to rock
With they secondhand flows like they runnin' on a clock
In a one minute cycle, I'm done with the rifles
The tecs, the 9's, the killers, the psychos
Look, now can we party?
And I want a Shirley Temple cause I don't drink Bacardi
But in a minute I'ma probably
Try to holler at a hottie with a, nice shaped body
If she's into what I'm into we should worship at my temple
I'ma, grind from behind as we wind to the tempo
If she break it down slow, then it feel like mo'
That's a Mayfield line for all of y'all who don't know
All I do is have fun and bring life to the fans
And I, don't need a gun cause I'm nice with my hands, come on
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