Me, Not the PaperJeru The Damaja

[Chorus]
"Cause ain't no fiends coming in between me an my dreams
See what I mean, Black?" "I gets the paper"

[Verse 1]
Microphone thugs, flip keys and shit
'member the '80's when niggas was acting crazy?
The mean streets raised me
I used to live dangerously
Amidst crack-selling armed and dangerous felons
Plus murderers, drug spot burglars
Niggas doing anything to acquire that paper
Lived the life of crime but got saved by the rhyme
Peace to all my niggas doing time on top of time
Plus the ones gunned down in their prime
I made it this far because of Divine design
Diamond, flooded chains the sun still outshines
I get you drunk off my drink like that champagne wine
As long as there's breath left, I father the fatherless
If shit was real, Brooklyn would snatch that chain off your chest
Don't fess, we know why you rock that vest
Hard on records, but really pussy, check it
I do this for me, and not the paper, strictly a hundred percent

[Chorus]
("'Cause ain't no fiends coming in between me and my dreams
See what I mean, Black?") ("I gets the paper")

[Verse 2]
It started way before Super Rhymes
Peace to mom dukes for enduring hard times
God bless all the victims of my past life crimes
I do this for the ghetto youth living like Good Times
Flipping rhymes saved me from the obvious traps
In '97, studio hustlers push crack on wax
And breaking backs, but faking jacks
If it wasn't for contracts, they wouldn't bust caps
So, destroy your people and collect huge stacks
Fat Ac's, and platinum plaques
Come bring it back, rewind it that old gangster bullshit
Got the youth running around criminal minded
Not a player hater, just don't chase the paper
Got a little deal so some heads caught the vapors
So stupid motherfuckers throw your guns in the air
To all my niggas who ain't make it past their 19th year
I do it for me, and not the paper
Strictly a hundred percent, nah mean?

[Chorus]
("'Cause ain't no fiends coming in between me and my dreams
See what I mean, Black?") ("I gets the paper")

[Verse 3]
Sinister plots, every week who got shot
Spots like the Enterprise kept the neighborhood hot
Niggas bugging out so some receive toe tags
Resting up north with fags or sporting shit bags
When I think back it's so sad
All the niggas I had, who'd ever figure that it'd get so bad?
So I retreat with a pen and a pad
Hide your chain when you're ridin' the train
Fuck writing rhymes about automatic weapons
I'd rather steer the youth in the right direction
Drop a bomb, destroy the 10 percent section
Little girls already sexing
Hard rock shorties is flexing
But I stick to my lessons, no stress
'Cause if shit was real, Brooklyn would snatch that chain off your chest
Don't fess, we know why you rock that vest
Hard on records, but really pussy, check it
I do this for me, and not the paper
Strictly a hundred percent, know what I'm saying?

[Chorus]
("'Cause ain't no fiends coming in between me and my dreams
See what I mean, Black?") ("I gets the paper")