BET - 2011 BET Hip Hop Awards - Cypher 1 Lyrics

Released: October 11, 2011

Featuring: Tech N9ne B.o.B Big K.R.I.T. Machine Gun Kelly Kendrick Lamar

Songwriter: Tech N9ne Kendrick Lamar Machine Gun Kelly Big K.R.I.T. B.o.B

Producer: DJ Premier

[Verse 1: Big K.R.I.T.]
They hollering at the K back
M.I crooked slay that, been killing beats since adapt
Yeah me and rhymes go way back, way back
Time machine flow when I was swanging and riding
If you ain’t repping for your people then you’re shucking and jiving
Tap dancing and sliding to beat that you can’t comprehend
How dare you speak on where I’m from if you ain't never been
Fried Kool-Aid who made, never ate that in fact
Grandma was chefing for real, made meals off love and scraps
Thank God for my country folk and family
Instead of a metaphor I’d rather take it by James Anderson
Damaging how they televised Basketball Wives
And not tornadoes in the South and how we lost lives
Still rebuilding, pray for the children that have no hero
Only the villains that tell them get money
Sleep when you die, I find it funny
Because when you rest in peace don’t mean fast asleep in slumber
Thank God and stay humble

[Verse 2: Tech N9ne]
Real rock, rap and not to Xerox, weird not
Enough to make you fear a lot from here watch
I ran scrimmage and I fought to the damn finish
And I popped eyes open without eating me canned spinach
My fans in it constantly tellin' me I can win it
If I stand grimace damagin' man every damn minute
I blend then expands quick it slams wicked rhyme
Grand spittage, H.A.M. with it, fam dig it's N9ne
Chea, hard to see me like the background
Your rap styles comin' softer than a cat’s meow
Red laces big-booted like I’m Iraq bound
That frown will get you ate by my cannibal from Sac Town
So relax pal, pat down, gat down, bat down, blackout
With a fat smile I might react foul, so don’t make this cat growl
I caught everybody when I spazzed, wow—who do I catch now?

[Verse 3: Machine Gun Kelly]
Cleveland, what up?
Yeah, Kells, uh, Cobain's back
I smell like teen spirit, man, Cobain's back
And I got these teens screaming like Cobain's back
You try me and I’ll make you a legend like Cobain’s strap—blaat
They say I’m wasting my time
Where the watch at? How he got that?
They say it wasn’t my time
Where the watch at? Now watch that
Speed of my syllables rhymes, better clock that
Stop that, Bad Boy gave me the contract and I dot that
Now who the heck is this, with his pants red as 666
All up in your girlfriend’s TwitPics?
That Eastside boy up out the 216
That’s making these other rappers get Melo like the Knicks, eh
Get you spitters huck-to finished
And when y'all win the game and the cypher was a scrimmage
So everybody gossiping tell a friend and a pigeon
How this white boy just bodied Black Entertainment Television
Lace Up!

[Verse 4: Kendrick Lamar]
Pushing a hoopty, bumping the Fugees
My life is a scary movie, your life is a male groupie
Kendrick Lamar broke the handle with 22 Uzis
Stuffed it in my mouth and cack-cack-cack!
Killed the rappers that knew me
Compton’s most wanted, I live my life in a dungeon
Came out a dragon I can probably touch the sun with...
My bare hands, what are your plans? To win a Grammy?
Sweet taste of victory, like Oprah’s punany?
Don’t judge me that’s just some irony, trust me
I like to laugh and get lucky
My sense of humor is rumored to be a Gemini’s company
Come with me, in the planet rock
And I plan to rock in a plantation
Chasing many legends that made it
Face it you will never be Pac-10 even when the planet stop
I’m 2012 on a 12-inch, aiming straight at your pelvis
Elvis would come back as a Black if he was hot
You’re just a mascot on a Kim Kardashian ass-shot

[Verse 5: B.o.B]
Full-blooded pedigree, prize fighter special breed
My flow slow, they say it got special needs
I’m talking Ritalin, maybe even Adderall
Four bars from me would probably kill your whole catalog
Sixteen would make Deborah Lee cut the channel off
Thirty-two would make Paul Bunyan take the flannel off
Sixty-four would make your mama want sixty more
I eat haters, check the crumbs on my kitchen floor
They say my music’s pop
I call it buyin' cribs for my mama, shakin' hands with Obama
And if you don’t believe me go online and check the pic
And if you check my flip cam you’ll see your sister in a flick
I’m perfect from the field it’s like I can’t miss
I’m on a rant like Durant no pick no assist
Ya'll tripping on TIP, get off my man neck
I’m just saying Martha Stewart left prison in a jet

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