Released: April 8, 2007
Songwriter: The Game
[Verse 1: The Game]
I’m feeling like a, black democrat
Barack Obama, the only nigga that can catch Osama
Spray lamas, get good head and fuck fly bitches with no covenant
Only the kitchen oven in and rules to the government
Ask the republicans how crack cocaine get smuggled in
Watch them throw they hands up and say it wasn’t them
As for rap, this is my lyrical asthma attack
It’s all I know, the guns, the cash, the dro
Fidel Castro in my own right, Capone like
Mafioso, Ben Franky on the low pro
Drop top Bentley, chromed out semis
Two grand in popular demand like the first pennies
My Audemars Piguet wrist say it's time
To dethrone Jay quick, tell 'em other niggas to take six
Coupe a buck fifty, what’s coming out the speakers
Got every video bitch scared to fuck with me
Give 'em hard dick and tampons, a shot of Patron and Don
The ones trained get ran on, my crew hard
Louis V sweaters on the boulevard
Pull niggas cars throw up signs and bang Nas
Them hoodfellas, fuck niggas, let them get jealous
While we fuck their hoes and stay out the windows of propellors
Gotta be the new school king, if not who is?
I get the most pussy and cash and move units
You bum niggas can't take my seed, i'm real
Talk to Kool G Rap three times a week
Still holla at Nas on the daily, only thing missin'
Is the crown and a phone call from Jay Z
Snoop got my back, nigga go ask him
My flow is lambo, bitch, try to pass him
Hit hard like maternal contractions, me and rap got
A fatal attraction, what the fuck happened?
To the new KRS-ONE, the Kool Hercs?
These new school niggas got the old school merked
Where are the new KRS-ONE, the Kool Hercs?
These new school niggas got the old school merked
Niggas ain't gon' never be on my level, get a shovel
Dig a hole bitch, and polly' with the devil
You're a Ipod hustler, i'm a 80's baby for real
Born in '79 and bred to kill
You fascinated with your watch, the chain, that wack ass bling
Ask them how to spell Big Daddy Kane
You'll never blow, mattafact, you'll never know
Why Dame and Jay just let Roc-A-Fella go
You'll never blow, and you'll never know
Why Dame and Jay just let Roc-A-Fella go
That was The Dynasty - minus me
I was just five years short of my rhyming spree
Motherfuckers
I’m feeling like a, black democrat
Barack Obama, the only nigga that can catch Osama
Spray lamas, get good head and fuck fly bitches with no covenant
Only the kitchen oven in and rules to the government
Ask the republicans how crack cocaine get smuggled in
Watch them throw they hands up and say it wasn’t them
As for rap, this is my lyrical asthma attack
It’s all I know, the guns, the cash, the dro
Fidel Castro in my own right, Capone like
Mafioso, Ben Franky on the low pro
Drop top Bentley, chromed out semis
Two grand in popular demand like the first pennies
My Audemars Piguet wrist say it's time
To dethrone Jay quick, tell 'em other niggas to take six
Coupe a buck fifty, what’s coming out the speakers
Got every video bitch scared to fuck with me
Give 'em hard dick and tampons, a shot of Patron and Don
The ones trained get ran on, my crew hard
Louis V sweaters on the boulevard
Pull niggas cars throw up signs and bang Nas
Them hoodfellas, fuck niggas, let them get jealous
While we fuck their hoes and stay out the windows of propellors
Gotta be the new school king, if not who is?
I get the most pussy and cash and move units
You bum niggas can't take my seed, i'm real
Talk to Kool G Rap three times a week
Still holla at Nas on the daily, only thing missin'
Is the crown and a phone call from Jay Z
Snoop got my back, nigga go ask him
My flow is lambo, bitch, try to pass him
Hit hard like maternal contractions, me and rap got
A fatal attraction, what the fuck happened?
To the new KRS-ONE, the Kool Hercs?
These new school niggas got the old school merked
Where are the new KRS-ONE, the Kool Hercs?
These new school niggas got the old school merked
Niggas ain't gon' never be on my level, get a shovel
Dig a hole bitch, and polly' with the devil
You're a Ipod hustler, i'm a 80's baby for real
Born in '79 and bred to kill
You fascinated with your watch, the chain, that wack ass bling
Ask them how to spell Big Daddy Kane
You'll never blow, mattafact, you'll never know
Why Dame and Jay just let Roc-A-Fella go
You'll never blow, and you'll never know
Why Dame and Jay just let Roc-A-Fella go
That was The Dynasty - minus me
I was just five years short of my rhyming spree
Motherfuckers
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