[Intro: Phat Kat and J Dilla]
Make some noise (Oh)
Oh, Oh
Oh, Oh
Oh
Check- check- check it out
Can't- can’t- can't f*** with it, it's impossible
’Cause it's not the game to play, no, it's not the game
I came in the door, I said it before
With truth in the music, who can refuse it?
Your man's back in this
Let's show these mo*********** that it's true and not just a hobby
[Verse 1: Masta Ace]
I'ma put it to you simply, the soul of the music so empty
I'm cold when I do this, don’t tempt me
Won’t walk the stroll and the label won't pimp me
That’s when I was younger with my face all pimply (Yeah)
Now I be's a runner but I'm not picking kis up
Me, I just be coming with the rap, chicken caesar
And I just be all up in these bars like a wino
And I do this all night long like I'm Lionel
This shit is final (What?) this shit it analog
This shit is vinyl (What?) this is not Tidal
This ain’t Spotify (Nah), Pandora playlist
Kids with Sony Walkmans used to play this
Don't know how to say this, looking at the whole scene
Shit went from Crooklyn to Clockers, Bokeem
You can lean and keep sipping codeine (Yeah)
And I'ma be a cheerleader, go team
And help my environment go green
And cut your music off like old jeans
It's that slick artist known to spit hardest (Yeah)
Bringing money in like Kickstarters
Who gon' get farthest, that depends
Used to ride around in the Benz with shit starters (Ha)
This is what they call music from the soul (Soul)
There's a good chance that I'ma do this when I'm old (Old)
Young boy talking 'bout, "You already ancient"
And I got the belt, let me show you how I spank shit
Good shit, bullshit, this is how I rank shit
All white party, yeah, this is on some Frank shit
No cocaine, sorry for my profane language
Legendary style like Coltrane
And still making moves, no Hammer pants (No)
And still bringing beef, no cattle ranch (No)
When the shit goes down like an avalance
You gon' end up bleeding, speeding in an ambulance
Let me tell you where I was like a alibi
Brownsville Brooklyn, turn into a college guy (Right)
But please don't sleep like a lullaby (Please)
Got friends from the Group Home, Melachi (Dap)
Everybody who can rap want credit
Forget it, dead it, y'all don't qualify
Make some noise (Oh)
Oh, Oh
Oh, Oh
Oh
Check- check- check it out
Can't- can’t- can't f*** with it, it's impossible
’Cause it's not the game to play, no, it's not the game
I came in the door, I said it before
With truth in the music, who can refuse it?
Your man's back in this
Let's show these mo*********** that it's true and not just a hobby
[Verse 1: Masta Ace]
I'ma put it to you simply, the soul of the music so empty
I'm cold when I do this, don’t tempt me
Won’t walk the stroll and the label won't pimp me
That’s when I was younger with my face all pimply (Yeah)
Now I be's a runner but I'm not picking kis up
Me, I just be coming with the rap, chicken caesar
And I just be all up in these bars like a wino
And I do this all night long like I'm Lionel
This shit is final (What?) this shit it analog
This shit is vinyl (What?) this is not Tidal
This ain’t Spotify (Nah), Pandora playlist
Kids with Sony Walkmans used to play this
Don't know how to say this, looking at the whole scene
Shit went from Crooklyn to Clockers, Bokeem
You can lean and keep sipping codeine (Yeah)
And I'ma be a cheerleader, go team
And help my environment go green
And cut your music off like old jeans
It's that slick artist known to spit hardest (Yeah)
Bringing money in like Kickstarters
Who gon' get farthest, that depends
Used to ride around in the Benz with shit starters (Ha)
This is what they call music from the soul (Soul)
There's a good chance that I'ma do this when I'm old (Old)
Young boy talking 'bout, "You already ancient"
And I got the belt, let me show you how I spank shit
Good shit, bullshit, this is how I rank shit
All white party, yeah, this is on some Frank shit
No cocaine, sorry for my profane language
Legendary style like Coltrane
And still making moves, no Hammer pants (No)
And still bringing beef, no cattle ranch (No)
When the shit goes down like an avalance
You gon' end up bleeding, speeding in an ambulance
Let me tell you where I was like a alibi
Brownsville Brooklyn, turn into a college guy (Right)
But please don't sleep like a lullaby (Please)
Got friends from the Group Home, Melachi (Dap)
Everybody who can rap want credit
Forget it, dead it, y'all don't qualify
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